Movie Review:
The Adventures of Baron Munchausen
1988 / 2 hrs., 6 min. / PG
Director: Terry Gilliam
“This is precisely the sort of thing no one ever believes,” says Baron Munchausen while climbing up a crescent moon in a galaxy filled with living constellations. That line encapsulates the entire two hours of one of the most imaginative fantasy adventures I have ever seen.
For The Adventures of Baron Munchausen, the third film in his “Trilogy of Imagination,” director Terry Gilliam (Time Bandits, Brazil) adapted the tall tales of Hieronymus Karl Friedrich Baron von Munchausen, a real German cavalry officer around whom a series of absurd fictional adventures centered. I have heard two reports, one which states that a friend wrote the tales to the Baron’s chagrin, and the other which claims that the Baron himself was a grandiose liar in real life. Regardless, the tales became part of German folk literature, and have been made into films twice previously.
Gilliam’s adaptation opens with “The Town” under attack by “The Sultan” – a humorous vagueness that runs throughout the film. The town administrator (Jonathan Pryce) is a legalistic paperwork fiend who thinks everything, even the Sultan’s war, can be solved by science, reason, and signing the right parchment, a theme continued over from Brazil. And the chief civilian divertissement is the local theater, where Henry Salt (Bill Paterson) and Company are performing The Adventures of Baron Munchausen.
At one evening’s performance, the real Baron Munchausen (John Neville) shows up. Incensed at the license the young whipper-snappers are taking at the expense of his good name, the aging soldier interrupts the show, hijacking the stage to correct the injustice.
The Baron claims that he personally is the cause of the Sultan’s war. In a flashback with a beautiful transition shot, the Baron relates how he managed to win the Sultan’s entire fortune of gold and jewelry in a bet. Quite unhappy at losing that wager, the Sultan (Peter Jeffrey) pursued the Baron. Now, decades after the original affront, the Sultan has him trapped in the Town and persists in wasting cannon shot in the hopes of flushing him out. But exploding theater walls and flaming sets do little to dissuade the Baron from his determination to regroup his cadre of servants so that they can defeat the Sultan once and for all.
The Baron’s personal attendants in younger days were Berthold (Eric Idle), who could run thousands of miles per hour; Adolphus (Charles McKeown), who could see well enough to shoot an apple off a tree halfway around the world, and had the gun to do it; Gustavus (Jack Purvis), who could hear a man snoring from miles away; and Albrecht (Winston Dennis), who was strong enough to lift entire sailing vessels and sling them around by their anchors. This collection of fantastic misfits helped the Baron win the original bet, and now they are needed to save the Baron’s head from becoming part of the Sultan’s collection.
The Baron takes off to find his compatriots accompanied by Sally Salt (Sarah Polley), who has just enough childhood innocence and naivete to believe the Baron when he says he is the Town’s only hope. The adventures that ensue are a tremendous joy to watch, and I will not lessen their impact by analyzing them here, except to say that if seeing a man fly to the moon in a hot air balloon bothers you because you can’t help thinking about the impossibility of space travel without oxygen, this movie is not for you.
This film reminds me of such children’s books as The Five Chinese Brothers and The King With Six Friends, in which a bizarre collection of talented individuals pool their abilities to attain a happy ending. Gilliam’s creativity in bringing this particular story to the screen is as thrilling as those books were to me as a young boy. I love watching Berthold chasing a bullet, or Gustavus standing in Turkey gaging the wind speed in Italy just by listening, or the Baron blasting his way out of a whale using a pinch of snuff. And I often tried, as a boy, to lift myself off the ground by pulling up on my hair – the Baron actually succeeds. This wild story is told with energy and flair, and never fails to provide new and interesting wonders for us to behold. Watching the King of the Moon (Robin Williams) literally lose his head as it wrenches itself from his body is both comical and, if you have retained any youthful capacity to dream, amazing.
The theme here is one that Gilliam has presented before: Enjoy Your Imagination. We live in a world that has little patience for people who refuse to keep their feet on the ground, a world that would label someone like the Baron as insane. In one of the Baron’s many death scenes, he grouses to little Sally: “It’s all logic and reason now! No place for three-legged Cyclops in the South Seas, no place for cucumber trees and oceans of wine! No place for me!”
But Gilliam is not telling us to simply abandon rational behavior in favor of our wildest dreams. There is a time and place for responsibility, a fact which Sally must repeatedly remind the Baron of before his imagination distracts him to the point of rendering him completely useless in life.
John Neville (The Fifth Element, Little Women) portrays the Baron with uncompromised zeal, charging into each new adventure with anything ranging from casual aplomb to vigorous enthusiasm. Although the film flopped miserably thanks to some shenanigans in the Columbia corporate offices, it did launch Neville’s North American film career, and his performance makes it easy to see why.
Sarah Polley is an excellent choice as Sally Salt. She is precocious, and has just the nagging tone of voice she needs to break the Baron out of his reveries and get on with saving the Town. Polley has since gone on to appear in films such as Go and the remake of Dawn of the Dead, but I will always remember her as the girl who wanted to hear the end of the Baron’s story.
A handful of character actors fill out the rest of the cast, the most notable of which is Eric Idle (Nuns on the Run, Monty Python and the Holy Grail), who is always likable and has great fun as Berthold. Jack Purvis (Brazil) appears in one of his last film roles, the rock star Sting drops in for about thirty seconds as a wounded soldier, and Winston Dennis finally gets some dialogue after being mute for both Time Bandits and Brazil.
These fine performers work well with a script by Gilliam and Charles McKeown that is generally clever and exciting. Though the story is somewhat episodic in its leaps from one destination to another, thus preventing any real subtext or character arcs, the script doesn’t seem to care; it is too busy having fun.
The film is a very lavish production which looks like it spared no expense. As much as I want to be a film director, I am intimidated by the thought of such huge sets, such broad sweeping beaches filled with soldiers and armaments – all of which was real since CGI crowds were not a possibility at the time. Vulcan’s ornate ballroom is a masterpiece, the belly of the whale is awesome, and the surface of the moon is where the art directors obviously relaxed and got delightfully silly. There are imperfections, to be sure – the scale models and some flying wires are easily detected – but the look is still fantastic.
All this technical artistry was recognized with four Academy Award nominations: Art Direction, Costumes, Make-Up, and Special Effects. (It lost, respectively, to Batman, Henry V, Driving Miss Daisy, and The Abyss. I was ticked.) And yet, I was surprised to learn, the film has earned a place in cinematic history for being the textbook example of what Hollywood calls a fiasco. I don’t have room here, and apparently there is a whole book on the subject if you’re curious.
Having acknowledged its imperfections – and I’ll mention that, due to the Baron’s philandering and an artistic nude scene, it would be more appropriately rated PG-13 – I will say that this is without a doubt my favorite film. The Baron is a vigorous, enthusiastic figure whose laugh alone is enough to urge us to get on our horses, whip out our swords, and charge headlong into life’s challenges. The creativity of the storyline and the many fantastic whims that decorate the film never lose their savor with me, even after the gazillionth viewing. From the opening fanfare (by the late Michael Kamen – one of the most thrilling bars of music I have ever heard) to the triumphant ride into the sunset, my day is always brighter after watching the Baron’s exploits.
Floating heads, a two-dimensional city, a waltz with Venus, a three-headed mechanical bird, a tea party with the god of war, a card game with Death – these are things no one ever believes. But every now and then, just for a moment or two, maybe we should stop and imagine.
My Score: 8
Showing posts with label Personal Faves. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Personal Faves. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Practically Perfect
Movie Review:
Mary Poppins
1964 / 2 hrs., 20 min. / G
Director: Robert Stevenson
The “G” in the ratings system stands for “General Audiences,” as in a film that reaches the youngest children, the oldest adults, and everyone in between. Modern studios don’t seem to understand this – most of their “G” films really need a “K” for kids, since adults will typically find the product mind-numbing. Not so with Walt Disney. Mr. Disney was the Grand Master of true Family entertainment. He knew how to find and produce stories that truly reached all ages: Eye-catching visuals for the kids, humor and poignancy for the adults (something Pixar seems to have picked up on in the wake of the Disney corporation’s floundering after Walt’s death). While I enjoy practically every feature project created during Disney’s lifetime, I have found none that so exemplifies Family entertainment as Mary Poppins.
This is a film that everyone needs to see, first as a child, then as a teenager, then as a young adult, then as a parent – and as frequently as possible in between all of those stages – for it has something to offer at every stage of life, and its offerings get richer the older one gets. Of course, there is the likelihood that the modern cynical teenager will not have the patience for the film’s cutesy veneer, but it is his loss if he does not stick around and learn something about life.
George Banks (David Tomlinson) is aptly named, as he is a banker at a prestigious London bank in 1910. His wife (Glynis Johns) is a strange blend of Vigorous Suffragette and Submissive Housewife. His children, Jane (Karen Dotrice) and Michael (Matthew Garber), look up to him and want ever so much to love him – but George does not see it. Children are to be patted on the head and sent up to bed, educated by a nanny, and generally molded by their fathers and mothers into new fathers and mothers who will then do the same to the next generation. Such is the precision a British home requires.
When the previous nanny (Elsa Lanchester) quits in a huff, George advertises for a new one – but only after tearing up the advertisement his children wrote on their own. Children could not possibly know what is good for them. (Well, I agree on a limited basis, but not to the extreme George Banks believes.) In a fun interview scene, George meets the first and only applicant for the position of nanny, Mary Poppins (Julie Andrews).
The children quickly learn something is not quite ordinary about the new nanny. After all, she literally breezed in by coasting over London using an open umbrella as a sail. She does not deign to walk up the stairs to the nursery, but slides up the bannister instead. And not ten minutes into her new job, she is pulling impossibly large objects out of her carpet bag, cleaning up the nursery with a mere snap of her fingers, and talking to her reflection in the mirror. Yes, we’ve all done that, but who among us has a reflection that answers back with a mind of its own?
From there, Mary Poppins takes the children on an outing to the park, where they meet up with Bert (Dick Van Dyke), a jovial cockney bloke who employs himself with whatever comes to mind (including narrating the film at a few key moments). He is first seen as a one-man band, in the park he’s a chalk artist, and later he’s a chimney sweep. Together, the four of them enjoy an afternoon inside one of Bert’s chalk pictures, complete with animated singing animals.
But it is not my job to tell the whole story here. In short, the seemingly frothy and pointless adventures continue, quietly building to a purpose that leads to Jane’s and Michael’s running away from their father, whom they are sure is out to destroy them. “He’s bringing the army, the navy, and everything!” Michael claims.
And thus we come to the amazing beauty of the film. Yes, all of these adventures are fantastic tales for youngsters to watch. I laughed my pre-teen self silly at the sight of Jane and Michael magically cleaning the nursery, hopping into the chalk picture, and having a tea party on the ceiling with Uncle Albert (Ed Wynn). But it was not until my late teens, perhaps even early adulthood, when I realized what was really going on.
It happens in the scene where George decides to dismiss Mary Poppins. Lecturing her on the importance of raising the children with a certain mind set, Banks is prepared to let Poppins go because of her apparently frivolous methods. But before he knows what has happened, she has pegged his unloving short-sightedness dead on, and has done so in such a way that he has no clue his soul has just been laid bare.
From there, George’s world falls apart. His children inadvertently cause a run on the bank, bringing the terror of the bank’s executives down upon George. He is called to a late-night meeting where he will be sacked, and his walk to the bank in the middle of the night, through the empty London streets, is one of the most powerful moments of the film.
And then, he gets it. He finally gets it! In the midst of the chaos his life has become, the reality of what his life should have been all along strikes him. And isn’t that often the way? When we are rising to the top, our field of vision overlooks the objects of real beauty, joy, and love that surround us. It is not until we are toppled by one of life’s misfortunes that we take time to look around and see what is truly worthwhile to our existence.
But I should back up and do my duty as a reviewer. First, in dealing with the cast, Julie Andrews (The Sound of Music) plays Mary Poppins flawlessly. I mean that. I can’t find anything to quibble about. Apparently neither could the Motion Picture Academy, as Andrews was awarded Best Actress by her peers. Dick Van Dyke (Chitty Chitty Bang Bang) appears to be having an unrestrained blast in his role as the everyman who guides the story along. Linguistic purists will cringe over his version of a cockney accent, but I don’t find it distracting. And watch for his other appearance as Mr. Dawes, Sr., the role he quite begged Disney to let him play.
David Tomlinson (The Love Bug) was Disney’s every-villain for a while, and while he’s not so much a “villain” here, he does a good job as the crusty father. Glynis Johns (While You Were Sleeping) is humorous as Mrs. Banks, one moment bravely asserting that women should get to vote, and the next repeating, “Yes, dear,” to her husband in meek acquiescence.
And then there are the two children, played by Matthew Garber and Karen Dotrice (The Gnome-Mobile). They are self-proclaimed adorable children, and I agree. Matthew is quite funny as Michael, especially when he is hopelessly frustrated by his inability to snap his fingers. Unfortunately, somewhere along the way, these two joined the long list of Child Stars Who Failed to Make the Transition to Adult Stars, because aside from one or two other Disney features, they are almost completely unheard of after this film.
The script by Bill Walsh and Don Da Gradi did not win P.L. Travers’ approval, but it is lively, joyous, and in the hands of director Robert Stevenson (Bedknobs and Broomsticks) is told with great enthusiasm, wit, and fun. It also approaches its point with wonderful subtlety. Although there is an episodic nature to the little outings the nanny takes the children on, all of these things slowly and quietly build to the main point without ever stating it.
The songs are some of the most memorable ever written for a film. “Spoonful of Sugar,” the award-nominated “Chim Chim Cheree,” and the immortal “Supercalifragilistic” are among the gems of the music track. Websites that specialize in movie trivia inform me that Disney’s favorite song for the rest of his life was “Feed the Birds,” which I will agree is tender and haunting at the same time. The Sherman Brothers were brilliant in numerous films, and their compositions shine here.
The Disney company has always been a major innovator in new effects, and they are used here extensively. This is not to say the effects are perfect – the wires used to fly Andrews onto the Banks front porch are quite visible – but the sheer joy the film exudes tends to blur over the occasional flaw. Watching Dick Van Dyke dance with four animated penguins is a high point.
This is one of a handful of films I could discuss all day, and I feel like this review only begins to explore its depths. But I won’t do that; I will let you explore it for yourself from here on out. It is a treasure, assembled with care into one of the most touching films I’ve ever seen, with a beautiful life-affirming message about the joys of children, fatherhood, and family. See it often. With the whole family. It’s rated “G,” after all.
My Score: 9
Mary Poppins
1964 / 2 hrs., 20 min. / G
Director: Robert Stevenson
The “G” in the ratings system stands for “General Audiences,” as in a film that reaches the youngest children, the oldest adults, and everyone in between. Modern studios don’t seem to understand this – most of their “G” films really need a “K” for kids, since adults will typically find the product mind-numbing. Not so with Walt Disney. Mr. Disney was the Grand Master of true Family entertainment. He knew how to find and produce stories that truly reached all ages: Eye-catching visuals for the kids, humor and poignancy for the adults (something Pixar seems to have picked up on in the wake of the Disney corporation’s floundering after Walt’s death). While I enjoy practically every feature project created during Disney’s lifetime, I have found none that so exemplifies Family entertainment as Mary Poppins.
This is a film that everyone needs to see, first as a child, then as a teenager, then as a young adult, then as a parent – and as frequently as possible in between all of those stages – for it has something to offer at every stage of life, and its offerings get richer the older one gets. Of course, there is the likelihood that the modern cynical teenager will not have the patience for the film’s cutesy veneer, but it is his loss if he does not stick around and learn something about life.
George Banks (David Tomlinson) is aptly named, as he is a banker at a prestigious London bank in 1910. His wife (Glynis Johns) is a strange blend of Vigorous Suffragette and Submissive Housewife. His children, Jane (Karen Dotrice) and Michael (Matthew Garber), look up to him and want ever so much to love him – but George does not see it. Children are to be patted on the head and sent up to bed, educated by a nanny, and generally molded by their fathers and mothers into new fathers and mothers who will then do the same to the next generation. Such is the precision a British home requires.
When the previous nanny (Elsa Lanchester) quits in a huff, George advertises for a new one – but only after tearing up the advertisement his children wrote on their own. Children could not possibly know what is good for them. (Well, I agree on a limited basis, but not to the extreme George Banks believes.) In a fun interview scene, George meets the first and only applicant for the position of nanny, Mary Poppins (Julie Andrews).
The children quickly learn something is not quite ordinary about the new nanny. After all, she literally breezed in by coasting over London using an open umbrella as a sail. She does not deign to walk up the stairs to the nursery, but slides up the bannister instead. And not ten minutes into her new job, she is pulling impossibly large objects out of her carpet bag, cleaning up the nursery with a mere snap of her fingers, and talking to her reflection in the mirror. Yes, we’ve all done that, but who among us has a reflection that answers back with a mind of its own?
From there, Mary Poppins takes the children on an outing to the park, where they meet up with Bert (Dick Van Dyke), a jovial cockney bloke who employs himself with whatever comes to mind (including narrating the film at a few key moments). He is first seen as a one-man band, in the park he’s a chalk artist, and later he’s a chimney sweep. Together, the four of them enjoy an afternoon inside one of Bert’s chalk pictures, complete with animated singing animals.
But it is not my job to tell the whole story here. In short, the seemingly frothy and pointless adventures continue, quietly building to a purpose that leads to Jane’s and Michael’s running away from their father, whom they are sure is out to destroy them. “He’s bringing the army, the navy, and everything!” Michael claims.
And thus we come to the amazing beauty of the film. Yes, all of these adventures are fantastic tales for youngsters to watch. I laughed my pre-teen self silly at the sight of Jane and Michael magically cleaning the nursery, hopping into the chalk picture, and having a tea party on the ceiling with Uncle Albert (Ed Wynn). But it was not until my late teens, perhaps even early adulthood, when I realized what was really going on.
It happens in the scene where George decides to dismiss Mary Poppins. Lecturing her on the importance of raising the children with a certain mind set, Banks is prepared to let Poppins go because of her apparently frivolous methods. But before he knows what has happened, she has pegged his unloving short-sightedness dead on, and has done so in such a way that he has no clue his soul has just been laid bare.
From there, George’s world falls apart. His children inadvertently cause a run on the bank, bringing the terror of the bank’s executives down upon George. He is called to a late-night meeting where he will be sacked, and his walk to the bank in the middle of the night, through the empty London streets, is one of the most powerful moments of the film.
And then, he gets it. He finally gets it! In the midst of the chaos his life has become, the reality of what his life should have been all along strikes him. And isn’t that often the way? When we are rising to the top, our field of vision overlooks the objects of real beauty, joy, and love that surround us. It is not until we are toppled by one of life’s misfortunes that we take time to look around and see what is truly worthwhile to our existence.
But I should back up and do my duty as a reviewer. First, in dealing with the cast, Julie Andrews (The Sound of Music) plays Mary Poppins flawlessly. I mean that. I can’t find anything to quibble about. Apparently neither could the Motion Picture Academy, as Andrews was awarded Best Actress by her peers. Dick Van Dyke (Chitty Chitty Bang Bang) appears to be having an unrestrained blast in his role as the everyman who guides the story along. Linguistic purists will cringe over his version of a cockney accent, but I don’t find it distracting. And watch for his other appearance as Mr. Dawes, Sr., the role he quite begged Disney to let him play.
David Tomlinson (The Love Bug) was Disney’s every-villain for a while, and while he’s not so much a “villain” here, he does a good job as the crusty father. Glynis Johns (While You Were Sleeping) is humorous as Mrs. Banks, one moment bravely asserting that women should get to vote, and the next repeating, “Yes, dear,” to her husband in meek acquiescence.
And then there are the two children, played by Matthew Garber and Karen Dotrice (The Gnome-Mobile). They are self-proclaimed adorable children, and I agree. Matthew is quite funny as Michael, especially when he is hopelessly frustrated by his inability to snap his fingers. Unfortunately, somewhere along the way, these two joined the long list of Child Stars Who Failed to Make the Transition to Adult Stars, because aside from one or two other Disney features, they are almost completely unheard of after this film.
The script by Bill Walsh and Don Da Gradi did not win P.L. Travers’ approval, but it is lively, joyous, and in the hands of director Robert Stevenson (Bedknobs and Broomsticks) is told with great enthusiasm, wit, and fun. It also approaches its point with wonderful subtlety. Although there is an episodic nature to the little outings the nanny takes the children on, all of these things slowly and quietly build to the main point without ever stating it.
The songs are some of the most memorable ever written for a film. “Spoonful of Sugar,” the award-nominated “Chim Chim Cheree,” and the immortal “Supercalifragilistic” are among the gems of the music track. Websites that specialize in movie trivia inform me that Disney’s favorite song for the rest of his life was “Feed the Birds,” which I will agree is tender and haunting at the same time. The Sherman Brothers were brilliant in numerous films, and their compositions shine here.
The Disney company has always been a major innovator in new effects, and they are used here extensively. This is not to say the effects are perfect – the wires used to fly Andrews onto the Banks front porch are quite visible – but the sheer joy the film exudes tends to blur over the occasional flaw. Watching Dick Van Dyke dance with four animated penguins is a high point.
This is one of a handful of films I could discuss all day, and I feel like this review only begins to explore its depths. But I won’t do that; I will let you explore it for yourself from here on out. It is a treasure, assembled with care into one of the most touching films I’ve ever seen, with a beautiful life-affirming message about the joys of children, fatherhood, and family. See it often. With the whole family. It’s rated “G,” after all.
My Score: 9
Saturday, February 20, 2010
An Awesome Flight of Fancy
Movie Review:
Peter Pan
PG / 1 hr., 54 min. / 2003
J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan is the classic tale of Wendy Darling (Rachel Hurd-Wood) and her brothers John (Harry Newell) and Michael (Freddie Popplewell), who share a room and bedtime stories. Wendy is at a delicate age: She is a child on the verge of adulthood, and she is about to be forced to make the change by her father (Jason Isaacs). But she is offered an escape from this fate by Peter Pan (Jeremy Sumpter), a lively young sprite who invites her back to Neverland, a magical place where no one ever grows up.
But Neverland is not a perfect paradise: It is also home to Peter’s nemesis, Captain James Hook (Jason Isaacs again), who bears a hook instead of a hand, which he lost in a fight with Peter. The hand and a clock were swallowed by a crocodile that has stalked Hook ever since, hoping for dessert. And Hook has stalked Pan ever since, hoping for revenge.
Raise your hand if you did not know any of that. Everyone with a hand raised needs to report to Childhood Classics 101.
I grew up on the Disney animated version of Peter Pan, which delivers a fine presentation of a fantasy adventure for the whole family, despite the derogatory comparison it is receiving in the wake of this new adaptation. I am also familiar with the stage script, having played Mr. Darling in college. What is interesting about most of the adaptations of the story is that our focus is on a simple children’s adventure – possibly even a dream – that comes across as a piece of literary fluff. Then I saw what P.J. Hogan (My Best Friend’s Wedding) had drawn out of it, and I was completely floored.
Having recently perused Barrie’s novelization of his play, I am a little surprised at the number of critics who praise this new film for “staying so close to the book.” In terms of a scene-by-scene comparison, the Disney version is far more accurate than what Hogan and writer Michael Goldenberg (Contact) have come up with. This new film tosses out whole chapters, adds entirely new scenes and characters, and otherwise tampers on a wholesale level with the structure of the tale. Hogan has done away with clapping as the cure for dying fairies, and Peter never crows. The film also jettisons the traditional ending (“I’m old now, ever so much more than twenty”) in favor of an ending that is slightly smarmy, but which provides a shorter denouement if not necessarily a better one. I am willing to overlook these changes because of what the film does right. What this version absolutely nails, without compromise and with an excellence that blows away its predecessors, is the real message of the book.
Humor me while I theorize on this subject: In this new screenplay, Peter is more than a rogue; he is, as the book suggests, Childhood personified. Wendy is no longer merely escaping the world of adults; she is flying off hand in hand with her very youth and immaturity, which she initially believes she wants to maintain forever. And Childhood must eventually face its fear: Adulthood, personified in Captain Hook.
Contrary to my impressions of earlier “Pan” adaptations, this film does not say that growing up is bad; in fact, maturity is to be commended. It is not Adulthood itself that Wendy is fighting on the pirate ship, but her irrational beliefs about growing up; and that is an important distinction, even if she doesn’t notice at the time. Indeed, Wendy must grow up, for to remain a child forever is the height of selfishness. At the beginning of the film, Mrs. Darling (Olivia Williams) points out that “there is the bravery of thinking of others before oneself,” and by the end, Wendy realizes this and comes home to fill her rightful place in the world, both now as a young girl and later as a grown-up. At the end of the story, Childhood finds it has no permanent home in the Darling household, and returns to Neverland until Wendy’s children come along. Such is the message that I believe has been there all along, but which previous films presented so muted as to be lost entirely on the typical audience, including myself.
The film is stellar in more ways than one. First, we finally have an actual male playing Peter! I have never been able to fully accept Pans played by females – I am constantly distracted and unable to abandon myself wholly to the story. Jeremy Sumpter, who debuted in Bill Paxton’s Frailty, is a wonderful blend of impish prankster, show-off, and heart-breaking rogue. He has a great face for the role, and pulls some wonderful expressions – watch his face when he agrees, without saying a word, to let John and Michael come along to Neverland. A line or two felt stilted or under-enthused, and his lack of a solid English accent in the midst of the other characters is a deterrent; but overall, I think he’s an excellent choice. I hope someone also casts him as Puck in A Midsummer Night’s Dream before he gets much older.
Jason Isaacs continues the tradition of having the same actor portray Mr. Darling and Captain Hook, thus enhancing Wendy’s fearful association of Adulthood with her vision of her angry father. Isaacs has played nothing but malice since I first saw him (The Patriot, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets), but here he is far more timid than even in Barrie’s play, where Mr. Darling was all bluster to hide his shortcomings. Isaacs lets us see a reserved Mr. Darling grow more blustery as he is pressured into being “powerful” by Aunt Millicent (Lynn Redgrave).
Other noteworthy performances include Rachel Hurd-Wood’s debut. She is positively charming, with a lovely smile and giddy girlie energy throughout the film. Ludivine Sagnier is a deliciously wicked Tinkerbell, with some of the best laughs in the whole movie. Equally excellent are Harry Newell and Freddie Popplewell and Carsen Gray and the lovable Richard Briers (Much Ado About Nothing, Love’s Labour’s Lost) and, well, everyone else in the film. Casting was a strong point in an already strong production.
This is a film I regret having missed in the theater. The art departments have so pumped up the visuals that I wanted to sit as close as possible to my TV screen. The film opens with a gorgeous blue night sky, swoops through tufts of pink clouds over a storybook London, to the Darling home. Neverland is green and red and blue and ice-cold and summer-warm and bright and dark and every other imaginative extreme. Add to this that the colors change with Peter’s mood, from a fierce red during his sword fight to a chilling blue when Hook shatters his joy to a shocking pink when Wendy kisses him. And yes, Peter’s reaction is very much what happens when a young man is first kissed. I know from experience.
Speaking of kisses, a plethora of published critics have commented on the “sexual tension” in the film, but I must say I have no idea what they are talking about. There is a difference between longing for something (like permanent childhood) and getting turned on. I see nothing to indicate Peter and Wendy are erotically aroused, and parents who avoided the film because they heard of its sexual overtones from critics should rest assured that there is nothing to be wary of here.
The production department based many of their designs on the way a child would imagine things. Who among us has not seen a junior high student’s model of the universe, with brightly colored planets all within inches of each other? As Peter leaves Earth’s atmosphere, we are treated to just such a universe, as the children go careening past dozens of flourescent heavenly bodies.
Cinematographer Donald McAlpine and the effects team have provided us with some gorgeous images. I love the sequence in which Michael leaps off his bed attempting to fly. In one single shot, we see Michael spinning out of control, and Peter Pan above him sprinkling fairy dust on him. It’s beautifully composed and is as magical as the story itself. I also enjoy the image of Peter flying through what appears to be the night sky, until he puts out a hand and runs it through an ocean of water and we realize we are looking down upon him, not up at him. These are just two of the many visual high points.
Special effects are strong and excessively creative. I particularly enjoyed the early scenes involving Peter’s shadow. It has an entire personality all its own, sometimes swatting at Peter, sometimes cowering behind him. Once you’ve seen the whole film, watch the nursery sequences again and focus on just the shadow. Your viewing experience will be enriched.
Complementing all of it is James Newton Howard’s gorgeous orchestral score. I disagree with the addition of a pop rhythm to certain cues – I feel it wrenches us out of Edwardian London gracelessly – but the overall impression is of a fun and fantastical musical adventure.
I could go on, but you should probably just see the film for yourself at this point and revel in one of the best fantasy-adventures of its decade. It is visually lavish, emotionally stirring, and intellectually assertive, in addition to being a whole lot of gee-whiz swashbuckling high-flying fun. It is never lazy about its creativity, but fills the whole screen with life and joy from start to finish. It may be true that all children grow up (except one), but this is two hours of your life where you can slow the process considerably.
My Score: 9
Peter Pan
PG / 1 hr., 54 min. / 2003
J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan is the classic tale of Wendy Darling (Rachel Hurd-Wood) and her brothers John (Harry Newell) and Michael (Freddie Popplewell), who share a room and bedtime stories. Wendy is at a delicate age: She is a child on the verge of adulthood, and she is about to be forced to make the change by her father (Jason Isaacs). But she is offered an escape from this fate by Peter Pan (Jeremy Sumpter), a lively young sprite who invites her back to Neverland, a magical place where no one ever grows up.
But Neverland is not a perfect paradise: It is also home to Peter’s nemesis, Captain James Hook (Jason Isaacs again), who bears a hook instead of a hand, which he lost in a fight with Peter. The hand and a clock were swallowed by a crocodile that has stalked Hook ever since, hoping for dessert. And Hook has stalked Pan ever since, hoping for revenge.
Raise your hand if you did not know any of that. Everyone with a hand raised needs to report to Childhood Classics 101.
I grew up on the Disney animated version of Peter Pan, which delivers a fine presentation of a fantasy adventure for the whole family, despite the derogatory comparison it is receiving in the wake of this new adaptation. I am also familiar with the stage script, having played Mr. Darling in college. What is interesting about most of the adaptations of the story is that our focus is on a simple children’s adventure – possibly even a dream – that comes across as a piece of literary fluff. Then I saw what P.J. Hogan (My Best Friend’s Wedding) had drawn out of it, and I was completely floored.
Having recently perused Barrie’s novelization of his play, I am a little surprised at the number of critics who praise this new film for “staying so close to the book.” In terms of a scene-by-scene comparison, the Disney version is far more accurate than what Hogan and writer Michael Goldenberg (Contact) have come up with. This new film tosses out whole chapters, adds entirely new scenes and characters, and otherwise tampers on a wholesale level with the structure of the tale. Hogan has done away with clapping as the cure for dying fairies, and Peter never crows. The film also jettisons the traditional ending (“I’m old now, ever so much more than twenty”) in favor of an ending that is slightly smarmy, but which provides a shorter denouement if not necessarily a better one. I am willing to overlook these changes because of what the film does right. What this version absolutely nails, without compromise and with an excellence that blows away its predecessors, is the real message of the book.
Humor me while I theorize on this subject: In this new screenplay, Peter is more than a rogue; he is, as the book suggests, Childhood personified. Wendy is no longer merely escaping the world of adults; she is flying off hand in hand with her very youth and immaturity, which she initially believes she wants to maintain forever. And Childhood must eventually face its fear: Adulthood, personified in Captain Hook.
Contrary to my impressions of earlier “Pan” adaptations, this film does not say that growing up is bad; in fact, maturity is to be commended. It is not Adulthood itself that Wendy is fighting on the pirate ship, but her irrational beliefs about growing up; and that is an important distinction, even if she doesn’t notice at the time. Indeed, Wendy must grow up, for to remain a child forever is the height of selfishness. At the beginning of the film, Mrs. Darling (Olivia Williams) points out that “there is the bravery of thinking of others before oneself,” and by the end, Wendy realizes this and comes home to fill her rightful place in the world, both now as a young girl and later as a grown-up. At the end of the story, Childhood finds it has no permanent home in the Darling household, and returns to Neverland until Wendy’s children come along. Such is the message that I believe has been there all along, but which previous films presented so muted as to be lost entirely on the typical audience, including myself.
The film is stellar in more ways than one. First, we finally have an actual male playing Peter! I have never been able to fully accept Pans played by females – I am constantly distracted and unable to abandon myself wholly to the story. Jeremy Sumpter, who debuted in Bill Paxton’s Frailty, is a wonderful blend of impish prankster, show-off, and heart-breaking rogue. He has a great face for the role, and pulls some wonderful expressions – watch his face when he agrees, without saying a word, to let John and Michael come along to Neverland. A line or two felt stilted or under-enthused, and his lack of a solid English accent in the midst of the other characters is a deterrent; but overall, I think he’s an excellent choice. I hope someone also casts him as Puck in A Midsummer Night’s Dream before he gets much older.
Jason Isaacs continues the tradition of having the same actor portray Mr. Darling and Captain Hook, thus enhancing Wendy’s fearful association of Adulthood with her vision of her angry father. Isaacs has played nothing but malice since I first saw him (The Patriot, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets), but here he is far more timid than even in Barrie’s play, where Mr. Darling was all bluster to hide his shortcomings. Isaacs lets us see a reserved Mr. Darling grow more blustery as he is pressured into being “powerful” by Aunt Millicent (Lynn Redgrave).
Other noteworthy performances include Rachel Hurd-Wood’s debut. She is positively charming, with a lovely smile and giddy girlie energy throughout the film. Ludivine Sagnier is a deliciously wicked Tinkerbell, with some of the best laughs in the whole movie. Equally excellent are Harry Newell and Freddie Popplewell and Carsen Gray and the lovable Richard Briers (Much Ado About Nothing, Love’s Labour’s Lost) and, well, everyone else in the film. Casting was a strong point in an already strong production.
This is a film I regret having missed in the theater. The art departments have so pumped up the visuals that I wanted to sit as close as possible to my TV screen. The film opens with a gorgeous blue night sky, swoops through tufts of pink clouds over a storybook London, to the Darling home. Neverland is green and red and blue and ice-cold and summer-warm and bright and dark and every other imaginative extreme. Add to this that the colors change with Peter’s mood, from a fierce red during his sword fight to a chilling blue when Hook shatters his joy to a shocking pink when Wendy kisses him. And yes, Peter’s reaction is very much what happens when a young man is first kissed. I know from experience.
Speaking of kisses, a plethora of published critics have commented on the “sexual tension” in the film, but I must say I have no idea what they are talking about. There is a difference between longing for something (like permanent childhood) and getting turned on. I see nothing to indicate Peter and Wendy are erotically aroused, and parents who avoided the film because they heard of its sexual overtones from critics should rest assured that there is nothing to be wary of here.
The production department based many of their designs on the way a child would imagine things. Who among us has not seen a junior high student’s model of the universe, with brightly colored planets all within inches of each other? As Peter leaves Earth’s atmosphere, we are treated to just such a universe, as the children go careening past dozens of flourescent heavenly bodies.
Cinematographer Donald McAlpine and the effects team have provided us with some gorgeous images. I love the sequence in which Michael leaps off his bed attempting to fly. In one single shot, we see Michael spinning out of control, and Peter Pan above him sprinkling fairy dust on him. It’s beautifully composed and is as magical as the story itself. I also enjoy the image of Peter flying through what appears to be the night sky, until he puts out a hand and runs it through an ocean of water and we realize we are looking down upon him, not up at him. These are just two of the many visual high points.
Special effects are strong and excessively creative. I particularly enjoyed the early scenes involving Peter’s shadow. It has an entire personality all its own, sometimes swatting at Peter, sometimes cowering behind him. Once you’ve seen the whole film, watch the nursery sequences again and focus on just the shadow. Your viewing experience will be enriched.
Complementing all of it is James Newton Howard’s gorgeous orchestral score. I disagree with the addition of a pop rhythm to certain cues – I feel it wrenches us out of Edwardian London gracelessly – but the overall impression is of a fun and fantastical musical adventure.
I could go on, but you should probably just see the film for yourself at this point and revel in one of the best fantasy-adventures of its decade. It is visually lavish, emotionally stirring, and intellectually assertive, in addition to being a whole lot of gee-whiz swashbuckling high-flying fun. It is never lazy about its creativity, but fills the whole screen with life and joy from start to finish. It may be true that all children grow up (except one), but this is two hours of your life where you can slow the process considerably.
My Score: 9
Monday, February 15, 2010
Whisper, Whisk, Flit and Tick
Book Review:
Something Wicked This Way Comes
Ray Bradbury / Bantam / 1962
The back cover of my soft-cover Bantam edition of Something Wicked This Way Comes has a better introduction than anything I could come up with, I’m sure: “What if someone discovers your secret dream, that one great wish you would give anything for? And what if that person suddenly makes your dream come true – before you learn the price you have to pay?”
If you’ve never read Ray Bradbury’s classic piece of good old-fashioned horror and nightmares, you might want to stop reading this review even now and go find a copy at your bookstore. Letting the dark fantasy unfold with each page is the way it was meant to be experienced. If, however, you’re fine with hearing something about it first, read on.
It is the story of Will Holloway and his friend Jim Nightshade, two youngsters growing up in that classic era of Americana, the Midwest of the early 1900's. Both have dreams, but fatherless Jim in particular yearns to be older, a grown-up. And there is Will’s father, already in his middle-age years when he married, now considering himself old, too old to be a good father to Will.
Into the heartaches of these three and their fellow townspeople comes a carnival. Ordinary enough to look at, the carnival soon begins to make a frightening impression on people like Miss Foley, who so wishes to be young and beautiful again; or on Tom Fury, the lightning-rod salesman, forever racing ahead of storms to sell metal pieces of fire insurance. Carnival staples like the mirror maze and “The Woman Frozen in Ice!” first seduce then terrify those in town who have lives buried in regrets. The carnival and its owners, Mr. Dark and Mr. Cooger, seem to thrive on the anguish of others. As Will and Jim learn more about the carnival’s dark secrets, they find themselves running for their lives from a menagerie of side-show freaks who want to quiet the boys up.
Ray Bradbury is hit-and-miss for me, but Something Wicked This Way Comes is definitely one of my favorite books. The author creates an unforgettable tale, along the lines of something Stephen King might produce; but in my opinion more subtle, and certainly much less reliant on language, gore, and sexuality than King. As with other of his works like Dandelion Wine that play off his childhood memories, Bradbury takes us back to a small town where everyone knows the barber and the cigar store owner, where there is only one employee at the library because two wouldn’t have enough to do. Though the year is never stated, the atmosphere created is enough to let us know we are not reading about our contemporaries, at least not as far as the literal setting is concerned.
Bradbury has an interesting way with words. His choice of vocabulary is not one any other writer would think of, and yet his choices become so vivid and lend so much atmosphere. He talks of the library being “bricked with books”, or of arcs of electricity as “electric blue eels.” He runs sentences together not out of ignorance for the rules of English, but because when those sentences are then read, the pulse and tempo of the character’s very thoughts are amplified. Many of the characters do not speak as real people would, but they speak as real people might think in tense, pressurized times of life. As with much of Bradbury, especially his short stories, the point is the beauty, flow, and atmosphere of the words, not their denotative functions.
Bradbury’s theme is an interesting one, exploring those things in life that cause us internal pain, whether sharp or dull. The device of an infernal carnival allows him to look at how man spends his days wishing, regretting, envying – and then looks at what might happen if those wishes could be answered, if regrets could somehow be corrected. Even if Mr. Dark did not exact a hideous fee for making young boys’ dreams come true, the natural consequences of craving an alternate reality would, in Bradbury’s reasoning, be enough to drive a person mad.
I’m not going to delve any deeper, because this is one of those books that is best when it is simply absorbed page by page. A review of it could never really do it justice, neither before nor after reading it. Let it suffice to say that I highly recommend it. At 215 pages, it is not a laborious trek through an epic adventure, but good for finishing over the course of a handful of bedtimes. And at night in bed is definitely the best time to read it and experience its chills.
Worth The Read?: Absolutely
Something Wicked This Way Comes
Ray Bradbury / Bantam / 1962
The back cover of my soft-cover Bantam edition of Something Wicked This Way Comes has a better introduction than anything I could come up with, I’m sure: “What if someone discovers your secret dream, that one great wish you would give anything for? And what if that person suddenly makes your dream come true – before you learn the price you have to pay?”
If you’ve never read Ray Bradbury’s classic piece of good old-fashioned horror and nightmares, you might want to stop reading this review even now and go find a copy at your bookstore. Letting the dark fantasy unfold with each page is the way it was meant to be experienced. If, however, you’re fine with hearing something about it first, read on.
It is the story of Will Holloway and his friend Jim Nightshade, two youngsters growing up in that classic era of Americana, the Midwest of the early 1900's. Both have dreams, but fatherless Jim in particular yearns to be older, a grown-up. And there is Will’s father, already in his middle-age years when he married, now considering himself old, too old to be a good father to Will.
Into the heartaches of these three and their fellow townspeople comes a carnival. Ordinary enough to look at, the carnival soon begins to make a frightening impression on people like Miss Foley, who so wishes to be young and beautiful again; or on Tom Fury, the lightning-rod salesman, forever racing ahead of storms to sell metal pieces of fire insurance. Carnival staples like the mirror maze and “The Woman Frozen in Ice!” first seduce then terrify those in town who have lives buried in regrets. The carnival and its owners, Mr. Dark and Mr. Cooger, seem to thrive on the anguish of others. As Will and Jim learn more about the carnival’s dark secrets, they find themselves running for their lives from a menagerie of side-show freaks who want to quiet the boys up.
Ray Bradbury is hit-and-miss for me, but Something Wicked This Way Comes is definitely one of my favorite books. The author creates an unforgettable tale, along the lines of something Stephen King might produce; but in my opinion more subtle, and certainly much less reliant on language, gore, and sexuality than King. As with other of his works like Dandelion Wine that play off his childhood memories, Bradbury takes us back to a small town where everyone knows the barber and the cigar store owner, where there is only one employee at the library because two wouldn’t have enough to do. Though the year is never stated, the atmosphere created is enough to let us know we are not reading about our contemporaries, at least not as far as the literal setting is concerned.
Bradbury has an interesting way with words. His choice of vocabulary is not one any other writer would think of, and yet his choices become so vivid and lend so much atmosphere. He talks of the library being “bricked with books”, or of arcs of electricity as “electric blue eels.” He runs sentences together not out of ignorance for the rules of English, but because when those sentences are then read, the pulse and tempo of the character’s very thoughts are amplified. Many of the characters do not speak as real people would, but they speak as real people might think in tense, pressurized times of life. As with much of Bradbury, especially his short stories, the point is the beauty, flow, and atmosphere of the words, not their denotative functions.
Bradbury’s theme is an interesting one, exploring those things in life that cause us internal pain, whether sharp or dull. The device of an infernal carnival allows him to look at how man spends his days wishing, regretting, envying – and then looks at what might happen if those wishes could be answered, if regrets could somehow be corrected. Even if Mr. Dark did not exact a hideous fee for making young boys’ dreams come true, the natural consequences of craving an alternate reality would, in Bradbury’s reasoning, be enough to drive a person mad.
I’m not going to delve any deeper, because this is one of those books that is best when it is simply absorbed page by page. A review of it could never really do it justice, neither before nor after reading it. Let it suffice to say that I highly recommend it. At 215 pages, it is not a laborious trek through an epic adventure, but good for finishing over the course of a handful of bedtimes. And at night in bed is definitely the best time to read it and experience its chills.
Worth The Read?: Absolutely
Friday, December 4, 2009
One Film to Impress Them All
Movie Review:
The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring
PG-13 / 2 hrs., 58 min. / 2001
I read J.R.R. Tolkein’s massive fantasy adventure The Lord of the Rings about twenty years ago, and I decided at that time that it definitely needed to be remade as a live-action series of films instead of the Ralph Bakshi animated versions. It is with mixed emotions, then, that I must admit defeat to Peter Jackson – defeat because not only did he beat me to it, but because his films are so superb there will be no call for a remake during my lifetime. So I don’t know whether to be excited or sad.
I am writing this review after all three movies have come out, so by now a plot synopsis is probably pointless, but it’s my duty. The four books of the trilogy (the story proper and a prelude) take place in a mythical land called Middle-Earth – perhaps some rabid fans can clue me in here, but I’ve never been able to discern if Middle-Earth is supposedly an era in Earth’s history, or an entirely other fictional world. It is a moot point, as Tolkein provided so much detail in his books that he created a whole new world either way.
This fictional world is populated by all manner of traditional fictional creatures (trolls and elves) as well as a few new inventions (hobbits and ents). The epic revolves around two hobbits (creatures that are human in basic form though significantly shorter), Bilbo Baggins (Ian Holm) and his nephew Frodo (Elijah Wood), and their adventures in connection with a mysterious and powerful magic ring. Bilbo found the ring in what reads almost as a tangent in The Hobbit; and in The Fellowship of the Ring, Bilbo passes it on to Frodo.
The ring, we learn, was forged by the evil Sauron, a being we never really see either in the book or the film, but his watchful eye can be felt from great distances. With the help of Gandalf the Grey (Ian McKellen), a powerful wizard, Frodo learns that the ring is Sauron’s evil in material form, basically, and must be destroyed by throwing it into the volcano it was forged out of.
To document Frodo’s adventures would be quite long, but in short: At Gandalf’s instruction, Frodo and his fellow hobbits Samwise (Sean Astin), Meriadoc (Dominic Monaghan), and Pippin (Billy Boyd) set off with the ring. Before long, they are running for their lives from black-cloaked horsemen; following the lead of a mysterious ranger named Strider (Viggo Mortensen); and arriving in the nick of time at Rivendell, an elven city and sanctuary.
At Rivendell, Frodo & Company expands to incorporate Boromir (Sean Bean), a Man who distrusts just about everyone and everything; Legolas (Orlando Bloom), an elf; and Gimli (John Rhys-Davies), a dwarf. This counsel determines that the ring must be destroyed before Sauron’s minions find it, and that because of the frailties of the race of Men, only Frodo stands any hope of completing the quest before the lure of the ring consumes him. Thus the titular fellowship of the ring sets off toward Mordor, Sauron’s territory, where the volcano of Mount Doom resides.
At this point the drooling, maniacal devotees of the Tolkein cult (you can recognize them because they are dressed as dwarves and elves at the premieres) are complaining that I have not really and truly delved into the mythos underlying the epic struggle taking place in Middle-Earth, to which I reply: I am on your side, believe me; but I have a limited amount of words in these reviews. Yes, there is much more to the nearly three hours of film than the bland plot summary I have included, and those who wish to know more can either pick up one of the growing plethora of Middle-Earth pseudo-biographical studies appearing on bookshelves, or (here’s a thought) actually watch the movie – which is something I recommend.
Peter Jackson and Fran Walsh have done a wonderful job of taking a highly detailed book and boiling it down into, well, a highly detailed movie. Although I was one of the voices decrying the absence of Tom Bombadil, I will concede that a literal translation from book to film makes for a stilted movie (cough, cough, Harry Potter and the Sorceror’s Stone), and that most of the alterations in the film are acceptable if not always explicable.
Elijah Wood (Deep Impact) has the lengthy task of playing Frodo. Critics have made much of the fact that Frodo does little more than twist his face up into painful contortions over the fact that he must carry the world’s greatest evil across much of the known world, but that’s what Frodo gets to do, and Wood does it well. He has a wonderful face for this role, complete with dazzling blue eyes that add to his persona as a fantasy creature.
The other actors range from satisfactory to excellent, including Ian McKellen’s (X-Men, The Shadow) Oscar-nominated turn as Gandalf, Sean Astin’s (Rudy, Memphis Belle) portrayal of Frodo’s closest friend, and Orlando Bloom’s (Wilde) graceful but deadly elf. The women don’t have a lot to do except stand around and look lovely while speaking at a tempo that would put Modern-Earth to sleep at parties. But they do it well, so props to Cate Blanchett (The Talented Mr. Ripley, Elizabeth) and Liv Tyler (That Thing You Do).
Now, how do I discuss the production values of this film in the space I have left? In sweeping superlatives, I suppose: The Film Looks Wonderful! This is a fantasy film that creates an entirely new world on a grand scale. With the help of computer animation and digital backgrounds, we are taken out of tight studio spaces (Labyrinth) or sets where the back wall is invisible but palpable (Hook) and launched into a full-scale epic covering hundreds of miles of territory and thousands upon thousands of warriors, elven armies, orcs, trolls, goblins, demons, wizards, and other nameless beasts.
The production designer, Grant Major, clearly had his hands full, but obviously loved it because he and his crew of art directors deliver the goods in every set, every costume, every prop. Indeed, every facet of this film could provide an essay on film production by itself, but I will throw out just a couple of quick notes.
The sets, even those portions unaided by computer additions, are wonderful to look at. Hobbiton is perfectly adorable, as it should be for creatures of that disposition. Saruman’s tower is menacing, while Sauron’s fortress is downright terrifying. If you are watching on home video, pause it several times during the Rivendell scenes, look past the actors, and examine the structures they are standing within.
Howard Shore’s musical score is grand and sweeping in its scope. A delicately transparent violin solo presents the countryside of Hobbiton, contrasted with the thick orchestral layers that follow the fellowship across the bridge of Khazad-Dum. A full choir joins the orchestra to enhance the fantastical themes of Middle-Earth.
My word processor is crying out for a lengthy description of the special effects, but I must let it suffice to say that Peter Jackson and his crew have mastered the difficulties of size rations on their very first try. Using a stacked deck of effects tricks, they have maintained the illusion that Elijah Wood as a hobbit is significantly shorter than Viggo Mortensen (Crimson Tide) as a towering Man. To do this has required, at any given moment in the film, creating duplicate scaled versions of many of the sets, forcing the visual perspective, and having human dwarves stand in for the hobbit actors. I imagine the crew’s need to keep track of all the details single-handedly kept the yellow legal-pad companies in business during production.
Despite the hubbub over the fact that this film was the inspiration for an entire new computer animation program, I have my usual complaint regarding computer-generated crowds: When one looks closely, some characters, especially distant ones, look more like high-end computer games than real figures. And one particular close-up shot of Legolas vaulting from the head of a cave troll is especially bad. We have come a long way from the very mechanical CG passengers on board James Cameron’s Titanic, to be sure, but we also still have a long way to go.
As a fantasy-adventure enthusiast, I don’t so much watch a film like this as dive in and let it soak all through me. Mr. Jackson has accomplished something here that will long be remembered, and is perhaps a turning point toward new standards in fantasy-adventure production. So I guess I’ll forgive him that he got to the idea before I did.
My Score: 9
The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring
PG-13 / 2 hrs., 58 min. / 2001
I read J.R.R. Tolkein’s massive fantasy adventure The Lord of the Rings about twenty years ago, and I decided at that time that it definitely needed to be remade as a live-action series of films instead of the Ralph Bakshi animated versions. It is with mixed emotions, then, that I must admit defeat to Peter Jackson – defeat because not only did he beat me to it, but because his films are so superb there will be no call for a remake during my lifetime. So I don’t know whether to be excited or sad.
I am writing this review after all three movies have come out, so by now a plot synopsis is probably pointless, but it’s my duty. The four books of the trilogy (the story proper and a prelude) take place in a mythical land called Middle-Earth – perhaps some rabid fans can clue me in here, but I’ve never been able to discern if Middle-Earth is supposedly an era in Earth’s history, or an entirely other fictional world. It is a moot point, as Tolkein provided so much detail in his books that he created a whole new world either way.
This fictional world is populated by all manner of traditional fictional creatures (trolls and elves) as well as a few new inventions (hobbits and ents). The epic revolves around two hobbits (creatures that are human in basic form though significantly shorter), Bilbo Baggins (Ian Holm) and his nephew Frodo (Elijah Wood), and their adventures in connection with a mysterious and powerful magic ring. Bilbo found the ring in what reads almost as a tangent in The Hobbit; and in The Fellowship of the Ring, Bilbo passes it on to Frodo.
The ring, we learn, was forged by the evil Sauron, a being we never really see either in the book or the film, but his watchful eye can be felt from great distances. With the help of Gandalf the Grey (Ian McKellen), a powerful wizard, Frodo learns that the ring is Sauron’s evil in material form, basically, and must be destroyed by throwing it into the volcano it was forged out of.
To document Frodo’s adventures would be quite long, but in short: At Gandalf’s instruction, Frodo and his fellow hobbits Samwise (Sean Astin), Meriadoc (Dominic Monaghan), and Pippin (Billy Boyd) set off with the ring. Before long, they are running for their lives from black-cloaked horsemen; following the lead of a mysterious ranger named Strider (Viggo Mortensen); and arriving in the nick of time at Rivendell, an elven city and sanctuary.
At Rivendell, Frodo & Company expands to incorporate Boromir (Sean Bean), a Man who distrusts just about everyone and everything; Legolas (Orlando Bloom), an elf; and Gimli (John Rhys-Davies), a dwarf. This counsel determines that the ring must be destroyed before Sauron’s minions find it, and that because of the frailties of the race of Men, only Frodo stands any hope of completing the quest before the lure of the ring consumes him. Thus the titular fellowship of the ring sets off toward Mordor, Sauron’s territory, where the volcano of Mount Doom resides.
At this point the drooling, maniacal devotees of the Tolkein cult (you can recognize them because they are dressed as dwarves and elves at the premieres) are complaining that I have not really and truly delved into the mythos underlying the epic struggle taking place in Middle-Earth, to which I reply: I am on your side, believe me; but I have a limited amount of words in these reviews. Yes, there is much more to the nearly three hours of film than the bland plot summary I have included, and those who wish to know more can either pick up one of the growing plethora of Middle-Earth pseudo-biographical studies appearing on bookshelves, or (here’s a thought) actually watch the movie – which is something I recommend.
Peter Jackson and Fran Walsh have done a wonderful job of taking a highly detailed book and boiling it down into, well, a highly detailed movie. Although I was one of the voices decrying the absence of Tom Bombadil, I will concede that a literal translation from book to film makes for a stilted movie (cough, cough, Harry Potter and the Sorceror’s Stone), and that most of the alterations in the film are acceptable if not always explicable.
Elijah Wood (Deep Impact) has the lengthy task of playing Frodo. Critics have made much of the fact that Frodo does little more than twist his face up into painful contortions over the fact that he must carry the world’s greatest evil across much of the known world, but that’s what Frodo gets to do, and Wood does it well. He has a wonderful face for this role, complete with dazzling blue eyes that add to his persona as a fantasy creature.
The other actors range from satisfactory to excellent, including Ian McKellen’s (X-Men, The Shadow) Oscar-nominated turn as Gandalf, Sean Astin’s (Rudy, Memphis Belle) portrayal of Frodo’s closest friend, and Orlando Bloom’s (Wilde) graceful but deadly elf. The women don’t have a lot to do except stand around and look lovely while speaking at a tempo that would put Modern-Earth to sleep at parties. But they do it well, so props to Cate Blanchett (The Talented Mr. Ripley, Elizabeth) and Liv Tyler (That Thing You Do).
Now, how do I discuss the production values of this film in the space I have left? In sweeping superlatives, I suppose: The Film Looks Wonderful! This is a fantasy film that creates an entirely new world on a grand scale. With the help of computer animation and digital backgrounds, we are taken out of tight studio spaces (Labyrinth) or sets where the back wall is invisible but palpable (Hook) and launched into a full-scale epic covering hundreds of miles of territory and thousands upon thousands of warriors, elven armies, orcs, trolls, goblins, demons, wizards, and other nameless beasts.
The production designer, Grant Major, clearly had his hands full, but obviously loved it because he and his crew of art directors deliver the goods in every set, every costume, every prop. Indeed, every facet of this film could provide an essay on film production by itself, but I will throw out just a couple of quick notes.
The sets, even those portions unaided by computer additions, are wonderful to look at. Hobbiton is perfectly adorable, as it should be for creatures of that disposition. Saruman’s tower is menacing, while Sauron’s fortress is downright terrifying. If you are watching on home video, pause it several times during the Rivendell scenes, look past the actors, and examine the structures they are standing within.
Howard Shore’s musical score is grand and sweeping in its scope. A delicately transparent violin solo presents the countryside of Hobbiton, contrasted with the thick orchestral layers that follow the fellowship across the bridge of Khazad-Dum. A full choir joins the orchestra to enhance the fantastical themes of Middle-Earth.
My word processor is crying out for a lengthy description of the special effects, but I must let it suffice to say that Peter Jackson and his crew have mastered the difficulties of size rations on their very first try. Using a stacked deck of effects tricks, they have maintained the illusion that Elijah Wood as a hobbit is significantly shorter than Viggo Mortensen (Crimson Tide) as a towering Man. To do this has required, at any given moment in the film, creating duplicate scaled versions of many of the sets, forcing the visual perspective, and having human dwarves stand in for the hobbit actors. I imagine the crew’s need to keep track of all the details single-handedly kept the yellow legal-pad companies in business during production.
Despite the hubbub over the fact that this film was the inspiration for an entire new computer animation program, I have my usual complaint regarding computer-generated crowds: When one looks closely, some characters, especially distant ones, look more like high-end computer games than real figures. And one particular close-up shot of Legolas vaulting from the head of a cave troll is especially bad. We have come a long way from the very mechanical CG passengers on board James Cameron’s Titanic, to be sure, but we also still have a long way to go.
As a fantasy-adventure enthusiast, I don’t so much watch a film like this as dive in and let it soak all through me. Mr. Jackson has accomplished something here that will long be remembered, and is perhaps a turning point toward new standards in fantasy-adventure production. So I guess I’ll forgive him that he got to the idea before I did.
My Score: 9
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