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: Kubo and the Two Strings

I have a horrible confession to make. I did not go see Kubo and the Two Strings when it was in theaters last summer. Worse yet, I instead went to go see a certain other movie, which shall remain nameless. You can imagine how bad I feel, especially since that movie went on to be a box office smash while Kubo just barely earned its budget back. The two came out within a week of each other; objectively, I am part of the reason Kubo failed, and let me tell you that nothing makes me feel worse. This is an incredible film that deserves every ounce of respect and acclaim it receives, and then some. Hopefully, this Review will suffice as an act of penance, inspiring you to check it out and guarantee it a good afterlife on home video.

Brought to us by the geniuses at Laika, the plot follows the story of a young, one-eyed boy named Kubo (Game of Thrones' Art Parkinson). He lives in a secluded mountain in ancient Japan with his ailing mother, telling stories to the locals with the assistance of his magical shamisen. After getting caught outside after dark, Kubo is forced to flee his home, constantly pursued by his wicked aunts (Rooney Mara) and his grandfather, The Moon King (Ralph Feinnes), who hope to rob him of his other eye. Displaced from his home and his family, Kubo is joined by the gruff, protective Monkey (Charlize Theron) and an amnesiac samurai who was cursed to take the form of a giant beetle (Matthew McConaughey); together, they set out to find his father's enchanted armor and defeat his evil grandfather once and for all.

As one would expect from a Laika film, Kubo is animated entirely through the use of stop-motion animation. Laika has a knack for setting the bar in terms of visual excellence with each release, and this is no exception; Kubo and the Two Strings is one of the most visually stunning pieces of art I've ever seen. There's bustling towns full of lively extras, pulse-pounding action sequences, and massive, intricate creatures, all animated frame by frame by frame by some of the most talented animators, artists, and puppeteers in the industry today. It almost feels like the animators are showing off at times, judging from how often we get a close-up of a character folding origami, handling a sword, or playing a stringed instrument, but frankly they deserve to boast as much as they please. The animation is so smooth, lively, and impressive that I almost forgot I was watching physical puppets interact with one another; its only detriment is that it sometimes looks too good, to the point that we're liable to forget the amount of physical work that went into bringing everything on screen to life. However, those moments when it dawns on you that every single thing on screen had to be sculpted, posed, and animated by hand (from the swooping paper figurines to each flowing strand of hair) are just as mind-blowing as they sound. The term "a feast for the eyes" is thrown around a lot these days, but it honestly doesn't do Kubo justice.

Laika has a talent for making films where the aesthetic is entirely vital to the tone and atmosphere of the film, and Kubo is no different. The story and plot conventions sound as though they're straight out of an actual Japanese legend, so the use of stop motion puppets gives everything an appropriately organic, folk-tale kind of feeling; combined with the narration at the beginning and end, it feels as though we're being told a story that was passed down through the generations. I get the same feeling watching this that I get when I watch a period piece or a Kurosawa samurai film, and that's mostly due to the incredible set design and visual style. A big part of what makes the film work is that it feels authentic (even though it's an original story, rather than an adaptation of any existing folklore) in terms of its visuals, music, and story.

For as much as I love the visuals here, the plot is just as deserving of praise. The story feels totally organic; there aren't any elements "for the kids" or "for the parents", it's simply concerned with being a good movie first and foremost, rather than appealing to any specific audience. I wouldn't really even call Kubo a children's movie; while it's colorful and animated and doesn't stray beyond PG territory, the tale it tells is very melancholy and refuses to talk down to its audience in any way. This is a true "all-ages" film, in that anyone, young or old, can find something to appreciate. I understand that major releases need to synergize with a studio's marketing departments, appealing to specific demographics and offering up ample opportunities for merchandise (on a totally unrelated note, check out this sweet clip of Justice League's new Batmobile design, now with MORE guns and missiles that really launch!). 

Really, this is a luxury that Laika, as a smaller studio, can readily afford, but I see no reason larger studios can't take the occasional risk and level with their audience. Kubo made lackluster returns at the box office because it was a low-key release surrounded by high-profile blockbusters; critically speaking, however, everyone loved it. If it had the exposure of other, more mainstream animated films, it would have been a huge financial success as well. Critics loved Kubo because it respected its audience. Themes of death, maturation, and loss are steeped deep within the movie's DNA, but not once does it feel like a dreary, unpleasant experience. It levels with its audience and accompanies them on a journey, rather than holding their hand, slapping on some blinders, and forcing them down a linear path. It's a film that, while not necessarily made for children, is definitely marketed to children; with that in mind, I think the film's approach to the story it sets out to tell is monumentally important. This is how you make a piece of art that has truly universal appeal.

I have not a single bad thing to say about Kubo and the Two Strings. I believe it to be Laika's finest film and one of the finest stop-motion pictures ever produced. Again, I deeply regret not seeing this last August when it was in theaters. Not only would I be happy to give the studio money for this, but I can safely say that this would have shown up at least twice on my End of the Year Retrospective. If you haven't seen Kubo, you need to atone for your mistake as I have. Track it down and check it out, I promise you won't be disappointed.

REVIEW: The Little Prince

The Little Prince is a project that those of us in North America wondered if we would ever see in our neck of the woods; originally released in France, the film was planned to debut in North America this past March until Paramount mysteriously dropped it a week from release. Luckily for us, this adaptation of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's iconic novella has found new life on Netflix, allowing everyone to enjoy director Mark Osborne's gorgeously animated tale of love, loss, and growing up.

Though I have never had the pleasure of reading the book on which the film is based (though I have a strong urge to now), it's clear that this is not strictly a direct adaptation of the source material. The actual story of the Little Prince is presented by way of a framing device involving a little girl (Mackenzie Foy) and her high-strung single mother (Rachel McAdams) attempting to find a place in the prestigious halls of Werth Academy. After moving to a new house in the heart of gray, homogenous suburbia, our unnamed protagonist meets her quirky neighbor, the Aviator (Jeff Bridges). The two become inseparable, as the Aviator tells the Little Girl of his adventures in the Sahara Desert with a young boy from outer space named the Little Prince (Riley Osborne). 

Though some die-hard fans of the book may not appreciate the way in which this story is presented, I found it to be a wholly unique and original way to adapt a relatively short children's story into a feature-length film. It would have been very easy to make the entire film focus exclusively on the tale of the Little Prince, perhaps with a few extended action sequences to fill the runtime (see literally any feature-length adaptation of a Dr Seuss story). However, by creating this new plot to frame the core story, the filmmakers found a way to expand upon the themes of the original book. The themes and lessons presented in the story of the Little Prince are wholly relevant to the life of the Little Girl; she, like every other character, goes unnamed throughout the entire film. Her struggle could be that of any modern child; she acts as a stand-in for the viewer, specifically younger viewers, when listening to the Aviator's story. While this may sound like it overly simplifies the themes and metaphors present in Saint-Exupéry's original work, it really just makes the whole thing more digestible and refined as a film. It's a gamble that requires careful craftsmanship to be effective (see 2012's The Lorax for an example of what could go wrong), but luckily The Little Prince is well-written enough that the entire story is made stronger for it. The core meaning of the film resonates so much deeper when we have a protagonist we can align ourselves with who is experiencing the deeper meaning of the story at the same time we are, and there are particular moments (such as when the Little Girl learns how the story ends) that feel ripped directly from anyone's real-life experiences.

The animation on display is quite impressive for such a small budget (less than half of what it cost to make Finding Dory), but the real visual artistry comes into play during the Aviator's story. The tale of the Little Prince is told via gorgeous stop-motion segments that make it look as though the watercolor illustrations from the original book have come to life. It's truly some stunning artistry at work; each model looks so delicate, yet moves with such fluidity. Films like The Nightmare Before Christmas and Paranorman have stunning stop-motion animation, to be sure, but there's never truly a question as to how it was accomplished. We all know that Jack Skellington was clearly made of resilient, pliable plasticine with a hardy metal skeleton underneath. Characters like the Little Prince, the Conceited Man (Ricky Gervais), and the Fox (James Franco) present much more of a challenge, considering they take on the appearance of living tissue paper. It's truly some of the most gorgeous, imaginative animation I've ever seen, and it's a legitimate shame that it doesn't occupy more of the movie. That's not to say that the default art style is bad (on the contrary, there are a number of striking, memorable, well-thought-out designs in this movie), but it's all considerably more standard than what we see when the Aviator is telling his tale.

Though it isn't a film without flaw (the pacing drags somewhat and the action-packed third act feels tonally out of place with how reserved the rest of the film is), I still found The Little Prince to be a genuine triumph. This is a film that speaks to the child in all of us; it is a film that will make you feel young again as you watch it. It's somewhat ironic, considering how the film stresses the importance of retaining the magic of youth through adulthood, but this is one of the most mature children's films I've ever seen. It would have been so simple to ruin this property. I can easily see this as a major studio release, the trailers filled with slapstick and pop songs, the main plot replaced with a wacky adventure through space, the overall message replaced with the same obnoxious "ADULTS ARE LAME" diatribe we've seen in every 90's toy commercial. The Little Prince is a film that goes out of its way to be above all of that, and the payoff is plain to see. This is a movie with something for everyone, both kids and grown-ups alike. You'd be remiss not to check it out.

EDITORIAL: Is The Boxtrolls Secretly About Hashtag Activism?

With this blog well into its second year of existence, I saw fit to mix things up a little. Often times there will be specific facets of the various films I watch that are too superfluous to discuss within the confines of a Review (or perhaps they simply occur to me after the fact, as with this one). Operating under the presumption that anyone cares what I have to say about movies to begin with, I thought it might be fun to encapsulate these proverbial shower thoughts in brief editorial pieces, to be released whenever the mood strikes me. Think of them as short little bonus featurettes; miniature essays in which I can ramble on about something that may or may not have belonged in a proper Review, but which still holds enough of my interest that I see fit to formally discuss it.

Now I'm aware that that headline is a bit of a doozy, representing an almost comical leap of logic at first glance. But just stick with me here and I promise it'll all (hopefully) make sense by the end. After I'd finished reviewing The Boxtrolls, a curious thought occurred to me in regards to Archibald Snatcher, the seedy antagonist of the film (incidentally, spoiler alert from this point onward). As much as I enjoyed the look and mannerisms of the character, I felt as though the filmmakers could have done much more with him in terms of characterization and backstory. I wanted to learn more about who he was, but it was only a good while after I'd finished the film that I realized it may have told us more about Mr. Snatcher than I'd previously thought. There's a comical reveal in the latter half of the film in which the sultry songstress "Madame Frou Frou" turns out to actually have been Snatcher in disguise all along. The reveal is brushed under the rug as a simple gag (considering the town's higher-ups are all very much smitten with Frou Frou's beauty), but I began to wonder if there was more to this reveal than meets the eye.

We know that Snatcher hates and resents the "White Hats", the town's wealthy elite. Despite his anger towards them, he truly wishes he could replace his lowly red hat with a proper white one and join them at their lavish cheese-tastings (even though he himself is severely lactose intolerant). Alternatively, we have Eggs, the young boy raised by Boxtrolls. Like Snatcher, he feels as though he doesn't fit in as a human (Red Hat) and identifies himself more as a Boxtroll (White Hat). Theses are two characters, a protagonist and an antagonist, who feel uncomfortable in their own skin and feel as though they belong as someone/something else. During the climax, Snatcher yells at Eggs how society will "never accept" people like them. Factoring in Snatcher's cross-dressing, it's not difficult to make the connection between the plight of these two characters and the real-world discussion of gender identity. Which brings us to the very different ways these characters react to their respective situations.

On one side, we have Eggs. He identifies as a Boxtroll, making him, by default, a second-class citizen in a society that harbors gross misconceptions about Boxtroll culture and how they operate. He of course knows that Boxtrolls aren't malicious beasts who prey on children, and wishes that society would simply smarten up and embrace unity, rather than the lies and misgivings that are so prevalent in the dominant culture. On the other side, we have Snatcher. He too belongs to a downtrodden minority group (the Red Hats) and wishes he could be a respected member of society. However, rather than desiring unity, as Eggs does, Snatcher is consumed with spite. His is a desire, not for equality, but for revenge. Whereas Eggs simply wants equality for everyone, Snatcher wishes to see the roles reversed; the same unbalanced situation, only he is the one subjugating those he feels has personally wronged him. It dawned on me that this could definitely be commentary on the modern discussion of civil rights, and the various forms of activism displayed in response to political turmoil.

When faced with prejudice and societal inequity, Eggs leads by example, proving the bias and misinformation regarding Boxtrolls wrong through his noble, levelheaded deeds. Conversely, when faced with the same issue, Snatcher builds a massive steampunk robot and attempts to murder everyone. If this story took place in modern day, it's not a stretch to imagine Archibald Snatcher tweeting "#KILLALLWHITEHATS" before instigating violence at a once-peaceful protest. Maybe I'm looking too far into it (as people are wont to do), but the message that inequality of a different shade doesn't cancel out inequality of the past (or more simply, "two wrongs don't make a right") is as relevant today as it ever was. Laika has a knack for taking real social issues and converting it into a format which allows viewers of all ages to digest the meaning, even if they may or may not be familiar with the overall issue itself. I personally can't wait to see what they show us with Kubo and the Two Strings later this summer; like classic Pixar, I implicitly trust them to make something good.

REVIEW: The Boxtrolls

If there's one studio that has found its way into my good graces due to the sheer dedication and elbow grease evident in everything they produce, it would have to be Laika. The successor to the iconic Will Vinton Studios, Laika has found past success with Coraline and the all-around spectacular Paranorman (with the promising Kubo and the Two Strings releasing later this year). A release from Laika is sure to be a treat, which is why I was so excited to finally check out their 2014 film, The Boxtrolls. The entire ad campaign emphasized the staggering attention to detail and amount of manhours it took to produce everything we see on screen; it makes sense then that The Boxtrolls is easily Laika's most visually gorgeous (if not the most story-driven) entry to date.

Taking place in the fantastically Victorian town of Cheesebridge, the plot follows a boy called Eggs (Game of Thrones' Isaac Hempstead Wright); after being separated from his father as a baby, Eggs finds himself in the care of the Boxtrolls, a race of subterrainean goblins with a penchant for acquiring scrap and turning it into marvelous inventions. Trouble is stirred up by the underhanded pest exterminator, Archibald Snatcher (Ben Kingsley), who is hell-bent on eliminating the trolls (perceived as a threat by the residents of Cheesebridge) and earning himself a place amongst the town's cheese-loving elites. It's up to Eggs and a tenacious girl named Winnie (Elle Fanning) to put a stop to all this unfounded prejudice and save Eggs' adoptive family before it's too late.

As one would expect from Laika, this film is utterly gorgeous. The amount of moving characters on-screen at a time can verge on the absurd and the natural flow and weight everything has to it is a true testament to the amount of work that was clearly put into bringing this story to the screen. There's even a delightful mid-credits sequence featuring Richard Ayoade and Nick Frost that spells it out plainly in the event that any audience member didn't understand it just yet; everything you saw on screen, from the tiniest crumb of cheese to the tallest building, was a real, physical object that was constructed and manipulated for hours and hours by a dedicated team of artists and animators. Clearly there was some CGI used to clean things up in post (you can't exactly use stop-motion animation on anything in midair without the use of greenscreen technology), but I still had moments of realization where it dawned on me that things like physics and fabrics and wind all had to be animated by hand, rather than by an algorithm or engine. It's really quite stunning, in hindsight, and is worth the price of admission alone.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of the story. While I adore the setting and cheekily macabre tone of the film, the pacing and story structure is sloppy at best; we never really get a feel for these characters in terms of their personalities. The closest thing we've got are two of Snatcher's henchmen, voiced by Ayoade and Frost; everyone does a solid job when it comes to voice acting, but there's hardly any depth to be found here (as opposed to something like Paranorman, a children's story that was the pure definition of "wise beyond its years"). Take Ben Kingsley's character for example; Mr. Snatcher is a wonderfully designed protagonist, with his greasy hair and spindly appendages. He's every cockney bad guy rolled into one and I immediately perked up every time he came on screen, since he was just so much fun to look at (and to listen to; Kingsley is flat-out unrecognizable here). However, we never really get a feel for who he is. We understand he wants to eat cheese with all the socialites (despite his horrid cheese allergy) and we understand he hates Winnie's father and we understand he hates the Boxtrolls, but we never understand why. The movie hints upon something interesting during the climax, but we're left wanting when it comes to some solid characterization, both for Snatcher and for everyone else.

While it's arguably the weakest film Laika has ever produced, that still places it leagues above the majority of children's entertainment available today. Its black, oddball sense of humor, whimsical tone, and obviously stunning visuals give it the feel of a macabre fairy tale (now that I think of it, I feel as though Laika may have a "type"). If you're looking for something cozy and visually engrossing, The Boxtrolls is certainly a solid option that's sure to delight.

REVIEW: Hell and Back

It always fascinates me to see animated adult comedies that actually make it to theaters. Aside from the works of Trey Parker and Matt Stone, I'd be hard pressed to name a single theatrical release that not only made money, but provided an enjoyable experience. Comedies are usually profitable thanks to recognizable names and low budgets; when the medium is suddenly changed to animation (and especially stop-motion animation), the budget gets ratcheted way up and the cast is required to sell tickets on name and voice recognition alone. Again, apart from movies like South Park: Bigger, Longer, & Uncut and Team America: World Police, it's a genre with few winners. Keeping that trend of almost-consistent mediocrity alive is Hell and Back, a stop-motion animated romp starring Nick Swardson and T.J. Miller.

We begin our story at a crummy carnival-style amusement park run by Brian Posehn (who steps out of his comfort zone on this one to play an aging metalhead who likes to smoke pot); Remy (Swardson), Augie (Miller), and Curt (Rob Riggle) are three childhood pals who spend their time lamenting their crummy jobs running and repairing the rides, wishing for more out of life. After Curt begrudgingly takes a blood oath on an ancient satanic text in order to scam Remy out of a breath mint, he finds himself sucked into the firey hereafter. Remy and Augie give chase, literally delving into the bowels of Hell itself in order to save their friend.

The plot is literally every tired, worn-out "bros on an adventure" cliché in the book. There's three friends; the jerk who's comfortable in his mediocrity, the fat dork who's never been near a woman, and the bland one who talks about maybe wanting to make something of himself one day. They end up going somewhere weird where they meet a lot of colorful characters, including a sexy lady (Mila Kunis) who, shocker, ends up with the fat virgin for some reason. The jerk briefly abandons everyone around the end of the second act, they all reconcile, and everything works out nicely in an ending where everyone simultaneously gets what they want. It's trite and tired and has been done before and done better. Despite the strong comedic talent in the cast (including a slew of cameos from the likes of Dana Snyder, Kumail Nanjiani, Greg Proops, and more), this is no Superbad.

Then again, the plot in a comedy is really like the cherry on top of an ice cream sundae; if it's there, great, but it's not what people are here for. The most important part of any comedy is that it's funny; unfortunately, I found Hell and Back to be the very definition of the phrase "a mixed bag". Anything involving our primary cast amounts to little more than tired frat boy humor, the kind of jokes you see on Comedy Central during the daytime. Yes, scatological humor is the name of the game when it comes to our main protagonists; aside from a delightfully over-the-top monologue from Swardson about what it means to be a bro, I can't remember a single line from any of our protagonists that made me even crack a smile. Early on, Riggle's character suggests they try to solicit oral sex from the bearded lady at the carnival they work at, only for Miller to reply "I'll go get the chloroform!"

Not to toot my own horn, but it takes a lot to make my skin crawl, especially when I don't get the joke. Hell and Back, however, managed to find a way.

That said, salvation came, ironically enough, at the hands of the Devil himself, voiced here by Bob Odenkirk. This character was easily the highlight of the film; portraying Satan as a beleaguered bossman of the underworld (who isn't really quite as bad as the Bible makes him out to be) is hardly an original concept, but Odenkirk is by far the member of the cast trying his hardest here, and it shows. Each one of his scenes felt like a breath of fresh air after dealing with our unlikeable protagonists; even if it wasn't anything laugh-out-loud funny, it would at least be tolerable. Aside from the Devil, there were also a number of comedians making single-scene cameos as his demonic henchmen; simple as it was, there's a recurring gag here involving a demon (voiced by John Farley) constantly subjecting lost souls to his various "punishments" (such as a Taco Bell/Pizza Hut that has run out of pizza) that consistently tickled my funny bone. Had every character been written as strongly as Odenkirk's Devil, my opinion of this movie would definitely be a lot more positive.

To be totally honest, Hell and Back isn't even that bad. There's a few moments here and there that got me, and I really have to admire the animation and art design. While it's not the smoothest stop-motion I've ever seen (this is much more Rankin-Bass than it is Laika), it's still a challenging medium to work in. Animators and artists clearly worked hard building and designing everything that appears on screen, which is why it's a shame that the movie underneath it is just so wholly crummy. While some of the cast provides legitimately funny moments, there's still an entire sequence where Danny McBride sings about being raped by a tree (voiced by H. Jon Benjamin, who naturally does the good work we've come to expect from him). At the end of it all, it's not good enough to watch legitimately and it's not bad enough to watch ironically. It's that middling, bland kind of mediocre that doesn't even warrant a watch. If you've got nothing better to do, I suppose you could definitely do worse, but it's also an objective fact that you could do better.

REVIEW: Robocop

With a title like Robocop, you'd probably expect this 1987 action flick to be nothing but schlock. You'd be partially right; a film about a police officer in dystopian Detroit who is murdered and subsequently resurrected as a law-bringing cyborg is definitely going to exude its fair amount of cheese. However, like the titular officer himself, the film (while looking a bit silly and clunky on the outside) has a very human spirit within.

The plot, as one would expect, involves a cop. A Robocop, as it were. Officer Alex Murphy (Peter Weller) is an all-around good guy family man, transferred to a beleaguered precinct in the heart of a vaguely futuristic Detroit. Crime runs rampant and the police force has been privatized by the mega-corporation known as Omni Consumer Products. After Murphy is brutally murdered by a gang of criminals led by the sadistic Clarence Boddicker (Kurtwood Smith), he is brought back to life by OCP scientists in the form of Robocop, the future of law enforcement. The film then follows Robocop as he gradually begins to remember his life as Alex Murphy, setting out on a quest to bring the men who killed him to justice. It's a classic B-movie revenge story told in a suprisingly sophisticated fashion. For example, I particularly enjoyed the sequence in which Murphy actually becomes Robocop. We end up seeing things from his point of view, giving us a feeling for just how terrifying and uncomfortable it would be to be turned from a man into a product. Throughout the entire film, Robo is referred to by OCP executives as their property, a device manufactured in their labs to be sold for a profit. We watch Murphy die, be stripped of his humanity by the paramilitary business machine, then slowly regain it on his own terms. As I said before, while Robocop is a pretty silly concept, it's definitely got a brain.

Peter Weller is really fantastic in the starring role. We only see him as Murphy for a short time, but he pulls off the role of a likeable nice-guy cop well. The film establishes him as a family man without resorting to clunky expository dialog, humanizing our protagonist before we see Red Forman blast him into oblivion. Once he becomes Robocop, Weller's performance does a complete 180 (not in quality, but in tone); Robo is stoic and monotone, a far-cry from the man he once was. The fact that we get to see what Murphy once was compared to what he's become makes his transformation all the more tragic. As the film progresses, more and more of Murphy's original personality begins to shine through, making for a really enjoyable, sympathetic protagonist. By his side is Officer Anne Lewis, played by Nancy Allen. The best thing about this character is that she feels like Robocop's partner, not his sidekick. Female characters in Lewis' position tend to either end up as flawless badasses who don't need no man or hapless damsels who serve no purpose throughout the entire film; I would hazard to say that Lewis is one of the best female action protagonists of this era. It's true that she doesn't get as much time or development as Murphy (unfortunately, that comes with the territory of being the secondary protagonist), but she's wholly relatable and never once feels useless or overpowered. There's no shoehorned love story, she isn't kidnapped by the main villain, everything in this movie feels essential to the plot. At just over an hour and a half, this is a movie with very little fat to trim.

Filling the role of villains, we have Kurtwood Smith as Clarence Boddicker and Ronny Cox as OCP executive, Dick Jones. First off, both of these characters have superb names. Honestly, I could say "Clarence Boddicker" all day and never get tired of hearing it. So bonus points for a strong display of euphany. The performances are what really matter here, though, so it's a good thing that these two are an absolute joy to watch (particularly Kurtwood Smith). Clarence Boddicker is such a good 80's villain; he's a violent psychopath who isn't written as anything more than he is. He's not some "agent of chaos" or anything like that. His line of work often brings him into conflict with the law, so, as he so elegantly puts it, "I don't like cops". Like Collin Farrell's Bullseye in Daredevil, this is a villain who treats his wrongdoing like a job; he's good at it and he enjoys doing it. Ronny Cox's appropriately named Dick Jones is pretty great too, playing the smug, scheming slimeball to Smith's unbalanced killer. He's the definitive power-hungry businessman, eager to climb the corporate ladder regardless of how many bodies he has to step over to get there. He brings his own form of mechanized law-enforcement to the table in the form of ED-209, a big, clunky chickenwalker that intimidates would-be criminals by playing recordings of lions before mutilating them with twin-mounted miniguns. The special effects here are pretty simplistic (which is to be expected, considering the film's relatively meager budget), but they have a certain charm to them. ED-209 in particular is really fun to watch; it's obviously done with the use of stop-motion, but it ends up looking really distinct from everything else on screen. Whenever it moves, it's both fascinating and endearing, considering that actual people had to make everything on screen with their bare hands. This film was made in just the right era; CGI hadn't been widespread yet, so there's strong use of squibs, prosthetics, dummies, miniatures, and other practical effects. While the visuals have obviously aged, I'd say that they've aged well; instead of sticking out and looking downright unpleasant, everything has a real charm to it, which definitely helps things in the long run.

Robocop is a film that could have easily been yet another schlocky 80's action flick. All of the elements are there; a dystopian future city, a revenge story, drugs, gratuitous violence, some mild body horror, and a big message about consumerist society. There's even a scene in a seedy strobe-filled night club. The thing about Robocop, however, is that it actually works well. It doesn't feel like a load of schlock meant to sell toys, all while denouncing consumerism behind a backdrop of blood and gore. Not to say that the film didn't sell toys; hell, I've got a Night-Fighter Robocop on my nightstand right now. It's bloody and violent and there's a good amount of swearing and explosions and the protagonist makes for some really awesome action figures. But it's also got a great character story running through all of that, conveying messages about everything from privatization and militarism to fascism and gentrification. If you're looking for a fun 80's flick with a little more meat than your average boomfest, I highly recommend you give Robocop a watch.