REVIEW: Pan's Labyrinth

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

REVIEW: Dunkirk

I've gotta say, I keep finding myself torn on Christopher Nolan. He's got undeniable talent as a director, but I tend to consider his work more hit or miss than the general public seems to. I'll never understand why everyone adored Inception as much as they did and I consider The Dark Knight Rises by far the weakest entry in his Batman trilogy. I love The Dark Knight as much as anyone, but I still think that, in terms of outright quality, he's yet to top The Prestige. The point I'm trying to make here is that, when I watch a Christopher Nolan film, I'm never quite sure what I'm going to get. It's a total coin-toss as to whether or not it'll sit well for me, which is one of the reasons I was so intrigued by his most recent film, Dunkirk. It was a subject matter that felt much more appropriate for a director like Clint Eastwood, so I was naturally curious to see what Nolan would bring to the table.

Taking place in 1940, after the Nazi invasion of France, the film tells the true story of the "Miracle of Dunkirk" (as Winston Churchill once put it). As the Nazis continue their march across Europe, Allied troops find themselves pushed back to the French city of Dunkirk, where they attempt to mount an evacuation. With the perimeter shrinking every day and Allied ships getting blown out of the water, the Royal Navy puts out a call to action, commandeering civilian boats to sail across the English Channel and assist in evacuating over 300,000 Allied troops. The film conveys all of this by way of three overlapping narratives; we have The Mole (following a small group of British troops attempting to escape the beach), The Sea (following an old man, his son, and their young deckhand as they sail their pleasurecraft across the Channel to assist in the evacuation), and The Air (following an RAF fighter pilot on a mission to provide air support, despite a damaged fuel gauge).

Implementing a nonlinear narrative like this is a risky move, especially in a film where the majority of the action takes place in only a small handful of locations, but the story itself remained coherent throughout (at least, moreso than a lot of other films that attempt this style of storytelling). However, my biggest issue with the film came from the near-total lack of any characterization. There's an interesting balance (or lack thereof) at play here, in which the film doubles-down on tone and atmosphere in place of character drama. This is a film that is much more about the event itself and the emotion surrounding it, rather than individual characters. Names and backgrounds are pushed to the sideline in favor of immersion; there are a handful of characters we focus on, but they're all more or less "everyman" types that could be swapped out with just about anyone else. 

The soldiers on the beach are all young men in identical uniforms, each about the same build with similar haircuts and accents. It's difficult to pick a single one out of the crowd, but it's fairly clear that this is the point. This isn't trying to be your run-of-the-mill war movie, where we follow a cadre of memorable heroes into danger and adventure. This is a movie about a tremendously bleak situation, and the characterization we get follows suit. Tom Hardy could have been any fighter pilot, Harry Styles could have been any soldier. Mark Rylance could be playing any regular guy with a boat, called into action by the powers that be. This isn't a film about the heroism of a few specific individuals, so much as it is about the extraordinary circumstances everyone who was involved found themselves in. 

The film puts all its chips on building tension, and that's something that it does incredibly well. By the time we enter the final act, the audience is well-trained to fear the sound of Luftwaffe aircraft, just as the Allied troops do. It comes off much more like an immersive experience than a movie about a historical event, presenting the situation as gray, dreary, and hopeless as it likely seemed to those who were there. We get the most dialog and characterization with our civilian protagonists on their boat, so they become the ones we feel most attached to; we want to see them reach that beach just as badly as the soldiers do. However, for as strong as the atmosphere is, the stumbling narrative focus tends to hold the film back. 

When characters die, we don't feel anything for them. On one hand, that may have been the point; in war, the casualties are many. "A single death is a tragedy, a million deaths is a statistic", after all. However, it really does feel like the film expects us to feel something, despite these characters having very little in the way of individual identity. Frankly, I wish that this had taken the Flags of Our Fathers/Letters From Iwo Jima approach and given each storyline its own film, telling the entire tale over the span of a trilogy. No doubt such an approach would be far more expensive, but it would give us the requisite time needed to grow attached to these characters, giving those emotional beats some true power. The film ends with Winston Churchill's famous "we shall fight on the beaches" speech; it's one of the finest speeches ever written, but the conventionally triumphant ending hardly feels earned, given the bittersweet climax and dreary tone the rest of the film carries.

Lack of investment aside, this is most assuredly a film that knows how to play to Christopher Nolan's strengths as a director. Tension is kept tight at all times, helped along by Hans Zimmer's ominous score. The cinematography is utterly gorgeous and the opening sequence establishes everything we need to know about the story, tone, and general direction of the film (as all good opening sequences do). This is one of the first films I've ever seen that has taken the subject of war and presented it almost like a horror film; there are a number of genuinely unsettling moments, all conveyed with a believable, tasteful amount of style and finesse. If there's one thing Nolan knows how to do, it's to construct a scene (especially in a visual sense), and this film is chock-full of notable moments and visuals that are still stuck in my head to this day. 

Dunkirk is an interesting film. It's unquestionably well-made, from a technical standpoint, but there still stands the question as to whether or not I'd recommend it. It's surprisingly arthouse for a big-budget war movie, especially from a mainstream director like Christopher Nolan. It all but ignores baseline aspects of filmmaking like characterization in favor of masterfully-built tension and atmosphere, resulting in a film that is incredibly effective, if this is the type of film you like to see. I suppose my advice would be to go see it, but temper your expectations beforehand. Understand you're not about to see what one might expect when they think of a World War 2 film. If something like Pearl Harbor is at one end of the spectrum, Dunkirk is at the exact opposite end. All in all, I don't regret going to see Dunkirk, especially considering I saw it in a theater with a quality sound system. It's a well-crafted experience, but I'm not sure I'd ever get excited if I found out it was airing on TV.

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: Kong- Skull Island

"Cinematic Universe" seems to be the defining phrase in this era of film history. Considering the runaway success of the MCU, it's not exactly difficult to understand why studios seem so smitten with the idea of tying their various franchises together in massive, theatrical crossover events. However, the idea of mashing profitable properties together is hardly a modern one; after all, Frankenstein's monster met the Wolfman long before the Avengers ever assembled (and that's counting the comics, too). Monster Mash films like Godzilla vs Mothra and House of Frankenstein were immensely popular all throughout the 40's, 50's, and 60's. Now that shared universes are making a comeback, studios are taking note by resurrecting the monsters who started it all. While Universal's upcoming reboot of The Mummy seems to be mimicking the superhero action of the Marvel films rather than sticking to the franchises' horror/suspense roots, Legendary's MonsterVerse (which began with 2014's Godzilla) skews much more towards presenting classic monster movie tropes and conventions with modern style and sensibilities. This remains true for the second film in this new series, Kong: Skull Island. It's a classic monster adventure with flair to spare, and I absolutely loved it.

The film acts as a reboot of the King Kong franchise, introducing Kong to this new continuity through an original story, rather than retelling the classic tale of beauty and beast. Set in 1973 right at the end of the Vietnam War, the film follows a team of scientists, government agents, and military personnel on a research expedition to the enigmatic Skull Island (recently discovered by Landsat satellites). As one might expect, our crew of explorers get more than they bargained for once they reach the island, running afoul of the local fauna (most notably, a 100-foot tall ape deity known as Kong). The plot is as straightforward as it gets and the characters are, for the most part, static and paper-thin. However, it's the sheer amount of care and competence that this movie was obviously made with that makes it work so well.

The film's visual style completely took me by surprise; the folly of so many modern blockbusters is an over-reliance of CGI to the point where everything looks flat and unimpressive (despite the immense amount of man-hours and artistry required to bring these effects to life). Imagine my shock when this offbeat, schlocky monster reboot ends up taking visual influence from everything from Apocalypse Now to Princess Mononoke. Skull Island is brimming with life, looking both organic and fantastical at the same time. Director Jordan Vogt-Roberts opted not to use dinosaurs, instead populating Skull Island with a number of bizarre but brilliantly-imaginative creatures and monsters. Early on, John Goodman's Bill Randa (an agent for the Monarch agency from Gareth Edwards' Godzilla) describes the titular island as "a place where God never finished creation", and everything from the vegetation to the inhabitants most certainly looks the part. Kong himself is more of a mythic beast than a big gorilla (no offense meant to Peter Jackson's loving 2006 tribute), covered in moss and algae as he lopes around his South Pacific home.

This is a movie that isn't afraid to get weird and inventive with its cinematography, and I feel the creativity at work here really pays off. During the initial helicopter battle with Kong, we are treated to a wonderful POV shot from inside a downed chopper. Our view of the outside world is restricted to an open side door, as we see the landscape slowly shift while Kong lifts the helicopter above his head. A hapless soldier falls into the ape's mouth and the film immediately hard-cuts to a research technician biting into a sandwich. Moments like these set the artistic tone for the entire movie; a larger-than-life adventure with dazzling contrasts of warm and cool colors shot from dynamic, engaging camera angles. There are several moments that I think would make for excellent posters (though I of course chose the bombastic Japanese variant for this Review); it's clear that the shots and visuals were composited with great care and attention to detail. Moreover, the film doesn't waste an ounce of its 1970's framework, enveloping its atmosphere in the iconography of the era.

Bucking the usual King Kong motif of "lovestruck beast martyred by the greed of man", Skull Island presents a positively Aliens-esque Vietnam parallel involving headstrong military types travelling to an unknown land to fight an enemy they don't understand. The film's antagonist, Lieutenant Colonel Preston Packard (Samuel L. Jackson), suffers from disillusionment and denial after US forces are recalled from Vietnam. Whereas all of his men are just thankful to go home to their families, Packard is left questioning the point of his sacrifice and service (as he explains to Brie Larson's wartime photographer, "we didn't lose the war, we abandoned it"). He's a soldier without a war to fight who happens to find an enemy in Kong. Despite Kong merely defending his territory from bomb-dropping intruders, his retaliation still wipes out a good amount of Packard's men. The best kind of villains are the ones with motives we can sympathize with; Packard is clearly consumed by a desire for vengeance, but we can completely rationalize his motives (to a point, of course). When a film's conflict boils down to "man vs nature", it's important for the human element to not be irrationally cruel. If the antagonist is a strawman who hates nature "just because", the audience will fail to see any reflection of themselves in the villain and the conflict loses all sense of interest and nuance.

That said, while I appreciate Skull Island's engaging stylistic choices and classically straightforward plot, I can't really defend the flat, uninteresting cast of characters. The film assembles an incredibly talented stable of actors (Tom Hiddleston, John Goodman, Brie Larson, Samuel L. Jackson, John C. Reilly, etc.) and then gives them nothing particularly interesting to do aside from escape from an island full of monsters. Samuel L. Jackson was an effective antagonist (though the role is very clearly in his comfort zone) and no one really gives a bad performance, but no one really stood out too much either. The script isn't anything to write home about (aside from a few good action movie monologues and one-liners here and there) and there are simply too many characters who are spread too thin in terms of motivation and emotional appeal. I didn't particularly care when anyone died and I was moreso engaged in Kong's conflict rather than if our team of protagonists could make it off the island. The only exception, unexpectedly enough, was the comedic relief played by John C. Reilly. He plays a US Air Force pilot who crash landed on Skull Island during World War 2 and has been living among the natives ever since (as you'd expect, there's culture shock jokes galore, a surprising amount of which hit). He actually gets a really nice amount of characterization and pathos, and I was really pulling for him to make it home; out of the entire cast, his was the only character that actually made me think "I hope he makes it out alive". Not to say that I actively wanted to see anyone die (like I said, the performances are all strong enough), but I wouldn't have necessarily cared if they did. This is a tremendously fun monster movie, but it could have really been something special if it had a stronger sense of focus when it came to the human element.

Kong: Skull Island is, shortcomings aside, an absolute blast. Is it a totally original movie? No. But is it a well-made movie? Most definitely. While the cast of characters is somewhat lacking (with John C. Reilly and Samuel L. Jackson carrying most of the weight), it's clear that this is a movie made with a loving artistic vision. It may not be as groundbreaking as the 1933 original or as epic as Peter Jackson's 2006 remake, but it's enjoyable in its own way, paying tribute to classic monster films both new and old. This is by no means a movie which attempts to reinvent the wheel; it knows exactly what it wants to be and exactly what it wants to do. It's made up of existing genre conventions, all executed with a great deal of finesse and style. The only question is, is that enough to make this worthwhile? I definitely think so; if you're looking for something to scratch that giant-monster movie itch, Kong: Skull Island is a worthy choice. While it's no eighth wonder of the world, it's still a ton of fun.

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.

REVIEW: Princess Mononoke

Only recently have I begun getting into the works of Hayao Miyazaki; I've known about his films for what feels like all my life, seeing Totoro dolls in Disney World and remembering commercials for Spirited Away on Toonami. Even though I hadn't seen a single one of his movies until relatively recently, these films were omnipresent in my view of pop culture; for as long as I can remember, I've known about the likes of Howl's Moving Castle and Kiki's Delivery Service. I've always been fairly familiar with anime in general, but it was always evident that the works of Studio Ghibli were something more. Something bigger and better, beyond the scope of the stuff I would watch on Cartoon Network or Kids WB as a child. Whenever anyone talks about the best Ghibli films, Princess Mononoke is a name that invariably comes up every single time. Having finally seen it, I can completely understand why.

The plot involves young Prince Ashitaka (voiced in the English dub by Billy Crudup); after saving his village from a rampaging demon, his arm becomes infected with a curse; while it greatly improves his strength and fighting ability, it will also eventually kill him. Exiled from his village, he sets out on a journey to find the cause of the corruption in hopes of stopping it and saving himself from a horrible fate. In his travels, he comes across Irontown, a formidable stronghold operated by Lady Eboshi (Minnie Driver), a powerful and self-assured leader who finds herself and her people constantly at odds with the inhabitants of a nearby forest. Their continual clearing of trees and mining operations have disrupted the balance of nature, causing conflicts with the forest gods who reside within. San (Claire Danes), a young woman who lives amongst the wolves within the forest, continually disrupts Eboshi's plans, attempting to assassinate her at every given opportunity. As this conflict between nature and human industry reaches a head, the duty falls to Ashitaka to restore balance. If it isn't evident by now, I watched the English dub released by Miramax. Like one would expect from Ghibli, it's an excellent dub, retaining nearly everything from the original Japanese version, save for some cultural terms or references here and there that add nothing and would be lost on a western audience, had they remained.

Everyone here does an excellent job, particularly Gillian Anderson as Moro, a forest god in the form of a giant, white wolf. There's just something in her voice that sounds so completely ancient and powerful; as she growls out her lines, you get the impression that this is a being who demands and deserves respect from all. Minnie Driver is also quite good as Lady Eboshi, lending the character a real air of authority. No matter what happens, she sounds in control and confident, which perfectly compliments both the character's position in life as well as her personality. The only addition to the voice cast that I'm not totally sold on is Billy Bob Thornton as the shrewd monk, Jiko-Bo. He nails the character's down-to-earth nature, but the tiny smidge of southern drawl that remains clashes both with the Muromachi-era aesthetic as well as the rest of the voice cast. He does a good job, but he sticks out like a sore thumb.

As good as the voice cast here is, it's by no means the main selling point of this movie. The animation is utterly stunning, imbuing everything with a feeling of organic life. The forest is so verdant and earthy, you can almost smell the moss growing on the trees; this is a movie where every frame is a masterpiece. The fight choreography and cinematography are more impressive than most live-action films I've seen; even though this is animation, the hits and movement have weight and gravitas to them. It all flows in a way that only animation can, but at no point does it look like a simple, silly cartoon. In the most basic terms, this is a movie about nature. Therefore, it is important that it feels natural; the forest feels like a real place, teeming with all forms of life and energy while Irontown has a much colder, inorganic feeling about it. It uses light and color to draw a very distinct line between the world of man and the world of nature; and it's this facet, the relationship between these two worlds, that I feel is the film's greatest strength.

As I mentioned, the main conflict in this film arises between the natural and human world's inability to live in harmony. This film shines in that there is no black or white morality to be found here; even the characters that stray closest to becoming villains have some manner of redeeming quality about them. Eboshi is literally waging war on nature, attempting to kill the Great Forest Spirit in order to suit her business interests. However, she also provides lives for women rescued from brothels and lepers who have nowhere else to turn. Her actions aren't motivated by a cartoonish sense of greed and entitlement, but rather by a desire to provide a good life for her people. She sees the forest as an adversary, so she does all she can to get it out of the way in the name of her community. While Moro fights for the survival of the forest, she and her fellow forest gods show little regard for human life. Again, they act not out of malice, but in defense for those they swore to protect. There are no objective good guys or bad guys here, just two sides that cannot see how intertwined they truly are. San and Ashitaka are the bridge between these two worlds; humans who are tied to nature at their core. So often, films that claim that humanity is harmful to nature fail to point out that humanity is nature. We aren't a hostile alien race that invaded a beautiful planet full of greenery, but rather one of countless species of animals that depends on nature to survive. This is a film that shows both sides of nature and civilization; while nature is pure and innocent, it is also harsh and uncaring. Humanity may be greedy and destructive at times, but we also possess empathy and reason. Both sides have something to contribute in tandem with each other because, at the root of all things, they are the same. By the end of the film, the "winner" isn't the humans or the forest, but rather life as a whole. It's a mature look at environmental issues that films of this type could really learn from.

Princess Mononoke is a masterpiece in every sense of the word. Packed to the brim with both style and substance, it is undoubtedly one of those films that everyone needs to see at least once in their lifetime. If you're uninitiated to the works of Miyazaki as I once was, Princess Mononoke is a stellar place to start your journey.