Let's be real: 2013 was a good year for movies. Like, a really, really good year. We don't have any Crashes or Argos that threaten to devalue the meaning of the bald guy-- whichever film takes home the Best Picture Oscar on Sunday, one thing is clear: it deserves to do so. I haven't felt this way about the Oscar nominations in a very long time.
Pontificating about the glory of Hollywood in 2013 will be saved for another post next week. But, in such a jam-packed awards season with so many heavy-hitters elbowing their way to the winner's circle, it's inevitable that some top films have simply been left behind. When the Academy Award nominations were announced back in January, you could almost hear all of the overlooked talent channeling Marlon Brandon and wailing, "I coulda been a contender!"
So, here's to the unsung talents from 2013:
5. Tom Hanks.
Yes, I realize it's Tom Hanks. But he delivered two memorable performances this year-- as Walt Disney in Saving Mr. Banks and the title character in Captain Phillips. While Captain Phillips was uneven at times, Tom Hanks' performance was absolutely riveting. The last 10 minutes or so of the film were particularly stunning-- THanks delivered a master class.
4. Gatsby
I realize that Baz from Oz's adaptation of The Great Gatsby wasn't everyone's cup of tea. (I, for one, loved it. Read my review here.) But I do think it should've been nominated for Best Adapted Screenplay. Luhrmann was obviously in love with the book and did a commendable job brushing the dust off a classic to make it sexy, original, and over-the-top.
3. The Hobbit: Best Original Song
Easily one of the best songs to come out of this movie season was "I See Fire" from The Hobbit. I can't listen to it without getting chills. While I still think Frozen's "Let It Go" should and will win, it would have been nice for Ed Sheeran to get acknowledgement from the Academy for this song.
2. Prisoners
In my opinion, this was easily one of the best films that I saw all year. Seriously. I will be remembering, recommending, and rewatching this film long after I forget the likes of American Hustle or The Wolf of Wall Street. Hugh Jackman and Jake Gyllenhaal both deliver the best performances of their career.
1. Inside Llewyn Davis
Why did everyone ignore this gem of a picture?! It's melancholy, passionate, complex, allegorical, profound, moving, masterful.... I could go on and on. In short, the fact that this isn't on the Best Picture list (or Best Actor list-- Oscar Isaac was phenomenal) is an absolute travesty. Also, the soundtrack to this film will be a legend one day.
Friday, February 28, 2014
Monday, February 24, 2014
One-Word Reviews
WELCOME, OSCARS WEEK.
Folks, this is the homestretch in the awards long haul that began last May. We've made it! To kick things off (and because I haven't had time to write more full reviews), I'm giving you my one-word reviews for the Best Picture contenders, with the nominees ranked from worst to best. In a word: enjoy!
9. CAPTAIN PHILLIPS = FORGETTABLE.
8. HER = LIFELESS.
7. PHILOMENA = JUDI.
6. AMERICAN HUSTLE = MESSY.
5. THE WOLF OF WALL STREET = BRASH.
4. DALLAS BUYERS CLUB = INTENSE.
3. NEBRASKA = UNDERSTATED.
2. GRAVITY = VISIONARY.
1. 12 YEARS A SLAVE = GAME-CHANGER.
Folks, this is the homestretch in the awards long haul that began last May. We've made it! To kick things off (and because I haven't had time to write more full reviews), I'm giving you my one-word reviews for the Best Picture contenders, with the nominees ranked from worst to best. In a word: enjoy!
9. CAPTAIN PHILLIPS = FORGETTABLE.
8. HER = LIFELESS.
7. PHILOMENA = JUDI.
6. AMERICAN HUSTLE = MESSY.
5. THE WOLF OF WALL STREET = BRASH.
4. DALLAS BUYERS CLUB = INTENSE.
3. NEBRASKA = UNDERSTATED.
2. GRAVITY = VISIONARY.
1. 12 YEARS A SLAVE = GAME-CHANGER.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
"12 Years a Slave" and the Burdens of History
Whatever happens on March 2, 2014-- whether Gravity or American Hustle, that renegade film masquerading as greatness, steals the Best Picture Oscar-- I can assure you of one thing: 12 Years a Slave will be remembered as the best film of 2013.
I first read Solomon Northup's memoirs, 12 Years a Slave, in college for a "Slavery and Civil War" course. I remember the astonishment I felt while reading the book and the distinct feeling that this was a special story. Solomon Northup was a free black man who was tricked and sold into slavery. He spent 12 years laboring as a slave, observing the brutal system, and hoping that one day his friends and family would find him and help him reclaim his freedom. It was a wildly successful book when it was first published in 1853, and abolitionists, hungry for factual accounts to support the claims made in Uncle Tom's Cabin, ate it up. It was a riveting story, to be sure; but I never expected it to find an audience beyond historians. Years later, I was surprised to discover that Northup's memoirs were being adapted into a film by British director Steve McQueen.
Steve McQueen's masterpiece is not just an important film; it is a necessary film, one that should have been crafted decades ago. America, though enthusiastic in celebrating an imagined history, seldom faces the uncomfortable truths. We are a society that revels in idealizing our past-- we like our pilgrims peaceful, our patriots selfless, our presidents honest, and our wars heroic. But the past, that great complicator of all things, is rarely so straight-forward and agreeable. It is far easier to brush aside and diminish histories of inequalities, struggles, and atrocities than it is to deal with them head on.
Slavery is one of those topics. Instead of focusing on the abuses leveled against millions, it is more convenient to focus on moments of triumph, especially in film: rather than giving an accurate depiction of the everyday degradations and horrors that occupied a slave's life, filmmakers have often turned to moments of feel-good success and resistance. And so we get Amistad, Lincoln, and Glory. These are all wonderful films that highlight important historical moments. But, these films tell only a small part of the slave story. The American past to which filmmakers gravitate is sanitized for the sake of telling a triumphant history, moments when our ideals guided us and justice was done. Yet, the American past isn't just about overcoming horrors; it's also about coming to terms with those horrors.
For too long, our society has perpetuated a romantic, distorted view of the American South that downplays the brutalities of slavery. The plantation homes that litter the South host tens of thousands of visitors annually. Though many of these plantations have begun to curate exhibits that document the slave experience, many still refuse to do so. Hollywood, of course, is guilty of this whitewashing, too. Sure, films have addressed slavery. But the daily realities of slavery are often brushed over or portrayed half-heartedly. Over 75 years after Gone with the Wind and close to 150 years since the end of the Civil War, Hollywood still has not figured out how to accurately, sensitively depict the reality of the slave experience: the constant, unrelenting exploitation, violence, and abuse that marked a slave's life. But Steve McQueen's 12 Years a Slave is the long-awaited film that seeks to haul Hollywood forward in its representation of slavery.
What's most extraordinary about McQueen's film is that it subverts the romantic interpretation of the American South that many films reinforce. First and foremost, there is the character/historical figure Edwin Epps, played brilliantly by Michael Fassbender. McQueen portrays Epps as a romantic figure-- volatile, passionate, troubled, and destructive. Indeed, Epps' romantic tendencies are highlighted by Patricia Norris' understated costume design. McQueen told Norris to design a "romantic" look to Epps' clothing. By making the monstrous Epps a romantic figure, McQueen undermines notions of the "romantic" antebellum South-- its romanticism was overcome by its violence. This characterization also fits with one of McQueen's leitmotifs: he repeatedly contrasts beauty and depravity, the sublime and the grotesque, the romantic and the violent. He incorporates National Geographic-esque shots of the beautiful, pure Louisiana landscape to contrast with the brutality of the unnatural system of slavery. Like the American story itself, the film is filled with contrasts that undermine the romanticism of the South.
There is a great, albeit brief scene about halfway through the film when Solomon, an expert violinist, is hired out to a neighboring plantation to provide music for a party. In the party scene, we see a room filled with handsome, well-dressed couples who are donning masks and dancing-- this is a masquerade ball, and everyone has come out in their finest. Behind the romantic couples, the musicians huddle at the edges of the crowd, brushed aside and entirely divorced from the gaiety in the room. The musicians are, of course, slaves-- dressed in tattered, dull clothes that are starkly contrasted with the rich, colorful costumes of the white elite-- and they are playing for the benefit of the slave holders who are absorbed in their own world. These musicians are not Uncle Remuses, happy and carefree; they are, quite simply, enslaved people who are forced to play music for their masters. McQueen's metaphor is clear: the American South, decked out as it was in finery, inane romanticism, and gilded temples to its own self-proclaimed greatness, danced to a music of the slaves' making. The antebellum American South, like the whirling couples on the dance floor, wore a mask of gentility and grace-- but, it was only a mask, covering up the atrocious, violent reality of their slave-fueled world.
I can picture no other director who could have made this film with the same unflinching sensitivity, subtlety, and control that McQueen exhibited. Unlike most films that touch on slavery, 12 Years a Slave does not save the violence for the climax or as the incident inciting the film's hero to pursue vengeance. Violence is not the climax; it's the everyday reality, the fact of life that was common, normalized, and frequent for slaves throughout the American South. By constantly confronting his audience with violence, McQueen utterly shifts our expectations of how we see slavery depicted on screen. Steve McQueen is known for making films that are both uncomfortable and unrelenting-- films like Hunger, a depiction of Irish hunger-striker Bobby Sands, and Shame, an unflinching portrait of a sex addict. McQueen brings that element of undaunted discomfort to 12 Years a Slave, and that is what makes this film exceptional. We see everyday slavery portrayed on screen as it has never been portrayed before, because Steve McQueen won't let us look away. He challenges us to keep watching, to bear witness to the indignities and abuse suffered by millions of enslaved men and women.
The best scene is also the hardest to watch. Solomon has challenged the authority of an arrogant overseer. The affronted overseer seeks retribution and, with his cronies, attempts to lynch Solomon. Though the lynching is stopped in the nick of time, Solomon is forced to half-hang for what feels like eternity. McQueen uses long, unedited shots and refuses to blink, to offer some relief to we, the audience, because Solomon felt no relief. We feel his ragged breath as he chokes on it for hours; we hear his gurgling throat; we see his toes balance the precipice of death, as they dance around in circles in the mud, desperately trying to hold the weight of his dangling body. And, most disturbingly, we watch life continue around him, unaffected by this normalized scene of brutality: slave children play in the background, men and women go about their chores, and the mistress of the house looks on from the porch. It is excruciating. We tremble with Solomon, gasping for air and weighed down by the burdens of a past that we cannot shake, no matter how hard we struggle. To put it bluntly, we've never seen slavery depicted like this before.
Steve McQueen's depiction of the realities of slavery could have gone even farther. Planters' relationships with their slaves were often more disturbing than what is presented in the film. Epps' relationship-- though, I hate to call it that-- with Patsey is just the tip of the iceberg. Thomas Thistlewood, an overseer on a Jamaican plantation in the eighteenth century, meticulously kept a journal of his activities in which he details his mistreatment of his slaves. Thistlewood was forthright about his sexual abuse of slaves, and he appears to have committed over 3,852 acts of rape. Thistlewood also concocted twisted forms of punishment, far worse than the sadistic horrors committed by Edwin Epps onscreen. These stories await future telling in film, as McQueen has opened the gates.
Steve McQueen's 12 Years a Slave is a game-changer. By bringing atrocities front and center with an unblinking urgency, McQueen has utterly shattered our previous expectations of how slavery should be depicted in film. People have been (rightly) praising 12 Years a Slave since it got a standing ovation at the Toronto Film Festival in September 2013. Unlike many of its competitors at the Oscars, 12 Years a Slave will be the film that people are talking, writing, and arguing about for decades to come.
I first read Solomon Northup's memoirs, 12 Years a Slave, in college for a "Slavery and Civil War" course. I remember the astonishment I felt while reading the book and the distinct feeling that this was a special story. Solomon Northup was a free black man who was tricked and sold into slavery. He spent 12 years laboring as a slave, observing the brutal system, and hoping that one day his friends and family would find him and help him reclaim his freedom. It was a wildly successful book when it was first published in 1853, and abolitionists, hungry for factual accounts to support the claims made in Uncle Tom's Cabin, ate it up. It was a riveting story, to be sure; but I never expected it to find an audience beyond historians. Years later, I was surprised to discover that Northup's memoirs were being adapted into a film by British director Steve McQueen.
Steve McQueen's masterpiece is not just an important film; it is a necessary film, one that should have been crafted decades ago. America, though enthusiastic in celebrating an imagined history, seldom faces the uncomfortable truths. We are a society that revels in idealizing our past-- we like our pilgrims peaceful, our patriots selfless, our presidents honest, and our wars heroic. But the past, that great complicator of all things, is rarely so straight-forward and agreeable. It is far easier to brush aside and diminish histories of inequalities, struggles, and atrocities than it is to deal with them head on.
Slavery is one of those topics. Instead of focusing on the abuses leveled against millions, it is more convenient to focus on moments of triumph, especially in film: rather than giving an accurate depiction of the everyday degradations and horrors that occupied a slave's life, filmmakers have often turned to moments of feel-good success and resistance. And so we get Amistad, Lincoln, and Glory. These are all wonderful films that highlight important historical moments. But, these films tell only a small part of the slave story. The American past to which filmmakers gravitate is sanitized for the sake of telling a triumphant history, moments when our ideals guided us and justice was done. Yet, the American past isn't just about overcoming horrors; it's also about coming to terms with those horrors.
For too long, our society has perpetuated a romantic, distorted view of the American South that downplays the brutalities of slavery. The plantation homes that litter the South host tens of thousands of visitors annually. Though many of these plantations have begun to curate exhibits that document the slave experience, many still refuse to do so. Hollywood, of course, is guilty of this whitewashing, too. Sure, films have addressed slavery. But the daily realities of slavery are often brushed over or portrayed half-heartedly. Over 75 years after Gone with the Wind and close to 150 years since the end of the Civil War, Hollywood still has not figured out how to accurately, sensitively depict the reality of the slave experience: the constant, unrelenting exploitation, violence, and abuse that marked a slave's life. But Steve McQueen's 12 Years a Slave is the long-awaited film that seeks to haul Hollywood forward in its representation of slavery.
What's most extraordinary about McQueen's film is that it subverts the romantic interpretation of the American South that many films reinforce. First and foremost, there is the character/historical figure Edwin Epps, played brilliantly by Michael Fassbender. McQueen portrays Epps as a romantic figure-- volatile, passionate, troubled, and destructive. Indeed, Epps' romantic tendencies are highlighted by Patricia Norris' understated costume design. McQueen told Norris to design a "romantic" look to Epps' clothing. By making the monstrous Epps a romantic figure, McQueen undermines notions of the "romantic" antebellum South-- its romanticism was overcome by its violence. This characterization also fits with one of McQueen's leitmotifs: he repeatedly contrasts beauty and depravity, the sublime and the grotesque, the romantic and the violent. He incorporates National Geographic-esque shots of the beautiful, pure Louisiana landscape to contrast with the brutality of the unnatural system of slavery. Like the American story itself, the film is filled with contrasts that undermine the romanticism of the South.
There is a great, albeit brief scene about halfway through the film when Solomon, an expert violinist, is hired out to a neighboring plantation to provide music for a party. In the party scene, we see a room filled with handsome, well-dressed couples who are donning masks and dancing-- this is a masquerade ball, and everyone has come out in their finest. Behind the romantic couples, the musicians huddle at the edges of the crowd, brushed aside and entirely divorced from the gaiety in the room. The musicians are, of course, slaves-- dressed in tattered, dull clothes that are starkly contrasted with the rich, colorful costumes of the white elite-- and they are playing for the benefit of the slave holders who are absorbed in their own world. These musicians are not Uncle Remuses, happy and carefree; they are, quite simply, enslaved people who are forced to play music for their masters. McQueen's metaphor is clear: the American South, decked out as it was in finery, inane romanticism, and gilded temples to its own self-proclaimed greatness, danced to a music of the slaves' making. The antebellum American South, like the whirling couples on the dance floor, wore a mask of gentility and grace-- but, it was only a mask, covering up the atrocious, violent reality of their slave-fueled world.
 |
| Solomon Northup plays at a masquerade |
I can picture no other director who could have made this film with the same unflinching sensitivity, subtlety, and control that McQueen exhibited. Unlike most films that touch on slavery, 12 Years a Slave does not save the violence for the climax or as the incident inciting the film's hero to pursue vengeance. Violence is not the climax; it's the everyday reality, the fact of life that was common, normalized, and frequent for slaves throughout the American South. By constantly confronting his audience with violence, McQueen utterly shifts our expectations of how we see slavery depicted on screen. Steve McQueen is known for making films that are both uncomfortable and unrelenting-- films like Hunger, a depiction of Irish hunger-striker Bobby Sands, and Shame, an unflinching portrait of a sex addict. McQueen brings that element of undaunted discomfort to 12 Years a Slave, and that is what makes this film exceptional. We see everyday slavery portrayed on screen as it has never been portrayed before, because Steve McQueen won't let us look away. He challenges us to keep watching, to bear witness to the indignities and abuse suffered by millions of enslaved men and women.
The best scene is also the hardest to watch. Solomon has challenged the authority of an arrogant overseer. The affronted overseer seeks retribution and, with his cronies, attempts to lynch Solomon. Though the lynching is stopped in the nick of time, Solomon is forced to half-hang for what feels like eternity. McQueen uses long, unedited shots and refuses to blink, to offer some relief to we, the audience, because Solomon felt no relief. We feel his ragged breath as he chokes on it for hours; we hear his gurgling throat; we see his toes balance the precipice of death, as they dance around in circles in the mud, desperately trying to hold the weight of his dangling body. And, most disturbingly, we watch life continue around him, unaffected by this normalized scene of brutality: slave children play in the background, men and women go about their chores, and the mistress of the house looks on from the porch. It is excruciating. We tremble with Solomon, gasping for air and weighed down by the burdens of a past that we cannot shake, no matter how hard we struggle. To put it bluntly, we've never seen slavery depicted like this before.
Steve McQueen's depiction of the realities of slavery could have gone even farther. Planters' relationships with their slaves were often more disturbing than what is presented in the film. Epps' relationship-- though, I hate to call it that-- with Patsey is just the tip of the iceberg. Thomas Thistlewood, an overseer on a Jamaican plantation in the eighteenth century, meticulously kept a journal of his activities in which he details his mistreatment of his slaves. Thistlewood was forthright about his sexual abuse of slaves, and he appears to have committed over 3,852 acts of rape. Thistlewood also concocted twisted forms of punishment, far worse than the sadistic horrors committed by Edwin Epps onscreen. These stories await future telling in film, as McQueen has opened the gates.
Steve McQueen's 12 Years a Slave is a game-changer. By bringing atrocities front and center with an unblinking urgency, McQueen has utterly shattered our previous expectations of how slavery should be depicted in film. People have been (rightly) praising 12 Years a Slave since it got a standing ovation at the Toronto Film Festival in September 2013. Unlike many of its competitors at the Oscars, 12 Years a Slave will be the film that people are talking, writing, and arguing about for decades to come.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Frozen and the Great Disney Thaw
Caution: This review contains spoilers.
Disney's gaze has long been frozen in time: for several decades, it has been looking backward to the values of mid-century America with a longing and wistfulness that is unbecoming in a progressive world. But that frozen gaze-- fixated on love-at-first-sight romances and outdated gender stereotypes-- seems to be thawing. And there is no greater testament to that than Disney's latest fairy tale, Frozen.
On the surface, Frozen is really nothing all that new for Disney Animation Studios. Like The Little Mermaid-- the film that kick-started the so-called "Disney Renaissance" of the late 1980s and 1990s, which produced modern classics like Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, and The Lion King-- Frozen is based on a Hans Christian Andersen tale. Like countless other Disney films, it focuses on the .00001%-- that is, princesses, the commodity that built the Disney Empire. And, like some of Disney's best films, Frozen feels like a Broadway musical with its plethora of songs. Yet, Frozen is unlike all of these films. Why? One simple reason: it's not about being saved; it's about saving yourself.
Allow me to orient you. In the snowy land of Arendelle, we meet two royal sisters. Anna is bubbly and earnest; Elsa, the older sister, is serious and, seemingly, more gifted-- she has magical powers that allow her to create snow and ice. One day, a simple game goes wrong, and Elsa accidentally injures her younger sister. She is crushed and spends the remainder of her childhood in isolation-- literally, she's locked in a room-- until she learns how to control her powers. Her mantra becomes, "Conceal; don't feel." Due to Elsa's isolation (quarantine??), the sisters who were once inseparable drift apart. Years later, Elsa ascends the throne, and on her coronation day she struggles to control her powers and keep them secret-- she fears her subjects will turn on her if they knew the depth of her abilities. Unsurprisingly, trouble ensues, and Elsa's secret explodes out. Humiliated and frightened for her life, she spectacularly flees the palace, her subjects, and her future as queen. Anna goes after her sister, sure that she will be able to bring her back and set things right, for her sake and the kingdom's.
As the film progresses, it becomes apparent that this isn't about true love's kiss, dashing princes who will save you, or curses that victimize and debilitate you. This is actually a film about sisterly love, about bonds that remain inexplicably strong, despite years of separation. This isn't about being saved by the handsome prince; it's about finding the inner strength to save a loved one. Disney even undermines the hero-prince archetype that has long defined its films. Frozen utterly subverts this in the character of Hans, the everyday villain whose tactic is to woo and charm. (Ironically, Hans is voiced by the reigning Prince Charming of Broadway's Cinderella, the very lovable Santino Fontana.) People, like this reviewer and that reviewer, have been warring over Hans. I, for one, loved the twist-- after all, in the real world, people who are seemingly perfect and good betray one another all the time. It's important that little kids learn this lesson early. The end of the film almost drove me to tears-- Anna must save Elsa by sacrificing herself for her sister. A simple gesture, but also powerful. Frozen shifts the love story from romantic love to familial love. The real love story here is between sisters. Disney has never done this before.
And then, there's Elsa herself. A painfully troubled young woman who has felt imprisoned by the burdens of her powers, she decides that the only way she can feel free and in control of her life is by constructing her own ice palace-prison-- a striking metaphor. Elsa's tragedy is heartbreaking: that which makes her dangerous also makes her gifted and special. As some reviewers have pointed out, Elsa's struggles parallel the struggles of men and women in the LGBT community. But, Elsa's struggles are broader than this: she is everyone, because there is something special and different about every single person on this planet. Elsa is anyone who has ever fiercely protected a part of themselves that they felt no one else would understand: the kid who was afraid to read a book at school, for fear of being called a nerd; the girl who loved to sing, but was self-conscious of her voice; the athlete who loved ballet lessons; the storyteller who wrote in private, afraid to let anyone into the safe world of her imagination. Elsa is all of us: girls and boys everywhere who feel misunderstood and alone. In many ways, she is the female version of the Beast; yet, it is not her actions that imprison her, but her own greatness. The other love story in this film is what Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City calls the most important relationship of your life: the relationship with yourself. Frozen teaches young people everywhere to love themselves; whatever makes you different also makes you extraordinary beyond measure, and that is worth loving.
I now refer you to this scene. This song is Disney's answer to "Defying Gravity," and it happens to be the best song in the film-- one that, if there is any justice in the world, will win the Oscar for Best Song. (The film's other songs, penned by husband and wife team Robert Lopez and Kristen Anderson-Lopez, are relatively forgettable, though Broadway greats like Santino and Jonathan Groff make the most of them.) Elsa, voiced with power and passion by the incomparable Idina Menzel of Wicked fame, has run away from her coronation ball and realizes there is no going back. (I dare you to watch this without getting goosebumps.)
This is one of Disney's best scenes of all time. It is empowering, moving, and rich in meaning and subtext. My favorite part of the song comes in at around the three-minute mark: "that perfect girl is gone," Elsa belts. Elsa's story is the story of every little girl. The story of struggling with the "good girl" mold that has contributed to identity crises for generations of women who try so hard to be perfect-- to be pretty, perfectly-formed, accomplished, demure, maternal, etc., etc., etc. Of course, this is an unrealistic expectation since we, as humans, are only perfect at being hopelessly imperfect. Elsa is not the perfect girl, and neither are the millions of young girls, mothers, grandmothers, and aunts who watch the film. And that's okay. In the context of Disney movies-- movies from a company that has done much, in its history, to perpetuate this mold of perfect womanhood-- this is an astonishing point.
Is Frozen the best Disney movie I've seen? Well, no. (For the record, I like Tangled a lot more. I don't think I'll ever get over the sky lantern scene.) But Frozen is important because it shows how Disney as a producer of stories for young people is moving forward-- it's willing to refocus its stories to celebrate the inner strength that empowers young girls and women. The film accomplishes so much in such a simple story. There is beauty buried beneath the icy layers of slapstick comedy, uneven script-writing, and mediocre music-- for, beneath the surface, deep in the soul of the film, there lies a flesh-and-blood princess of a picture reminding us that there is magic inside all of us.
Disney's gaze has long been frozen in time: for several decades, it has been looking backward to the values of mid-century America with a longing and wistfulness that is unbecoming in a progressive world. But that frozen gaze-- fixated on love-at-first-sight romances and outdated gender stereotypes-- seems to be thawing. And there is no greater testament to that than Disney's latest fairy tale, Frozen.
On the surface, Frozen is really nothing all that new for Disney Animation Studios. Like The Little Mermaid-- the film that kick-started the so-called "Disney Renaissance" of the late 1980s and 1990s, which produced modern classics like Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, and The Lion King-- Frozen is based on a Hans Christian Andersen tale. Like countless other Disney films, it focuses on the .00001%-- that is, princesses, the commodity that built the Disney Empire. And, like some of Disney's best films, Frozen feels like a Broadway musical with its plethora of songs. Yet, Frozen is unlike all of these films. Why? One simple reason: it's not about being saved; it's about saving yourself.
Allow me to orient you. In the snowy land of Arendelle, we meet two royal sisters. Anna is bubbly and earnest; Elsa, the older sister, is serious and, seemingly, more gifted-- she has magical powers that allow her to create snow and ice. One day, a simple game goes wrong, and Elsa accidentally injures her younger sister. She is crushed and spends the remainder of her childhood in isolation-- literally, she's locked in a room-- until she learns how to control her powers. Her mantra becomes, "Conceal; don't feel." Due to Elsa's isolation (quarantine??), the sisters who were once inseparable drift apart. Years later, Elsa ascends the throne, and on her coronation day she struggles to control her powers and keep them secret-- she fears her subjects will turn on her if they knew the depth of her abilities. Unsurprisingly, trouble ensues, and Elsa's secret explodes out. Humiliated and frightened for her life, she spectacularly flees the palace, her subjects, and her future as queen. Anna goes after her sister, sure that she will be able to bring her back and set things right, for her sake and the kingdom's.
As the film progresses, it becomes apparent that this isn't about true love's kiss, dashing princes who will save you, or curses that victimize and debilitate you. This is actually a film about sisterly love, about bonds that remain inexplicably strong, despite years of separation. This isn't about being saved by the handsome prince; it's about finding the inner strength to save a loved one. Disney even undermines the hero-prince archetype that has long defined its films. Frozen utterly subverts this in the character of Hans, the everyday villain whose tactic is to woo and charm. (Ironically, Hans is voiced by the reigning Prince Charming of Broadway's Cinderella, the very lovable Santino Fontana.) People, like this reviewer and that reviewer, have been warring over Hans. I, for one, loved the twist-- after all, in the real world, people who are seemingly perfect and good betray one another all the time. It's important that little kids learn this lesson early. The end of the film almost drove me to tears-- Anna must save Elsa by sacrificing herself for her sister. A simple gesture, but also powerful. Frozen shifts the love story from romantic love to familial love. The real love story here is between sisters. Disney has never done this before.
And then, there's Elsa herself. A painfully troubled young woman who has felt imprisoned by the burdens of her powers, she decides that the only way she can feel free and in control of her life is by constructing her own ice palace-prison-- a striking metaphor. Elsa's tragedy is heartbreaking: that which makes her dangerous also makes her gifted and special. As some reviewers have pointed out, Elsa's struggles parallel the struggles of men and women in the LGBT community. But, Elsa's struggles are broader than this: she is everyone, because there is something special and different about every single person on this planet. Elsa is anyone who has ever fiercely protected a part of themselves that they felt no one else would understand: the kid who was afraid to read a book at school, for fear of being called a nerd; the girl who loved to sing, but was self-conscious of her voice; the athlete who loved ballet lessons; the storyteller who wrote in private, afraid to let anyone into the safe world of her imagination. Elsa is all of us: girls and boys everywhere who feel misunderstood and alone. In many ways, she is the female version of the Beast; yet, it is not her actions that imprison her, but her own greatness. The other love story in this film is what Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City calls the most important relationship of your life: the relationship with yourself. Frozen teaches young people everywhere to love themselves; whatever makes you different also makes you extraordinary beyond measure, and that is worth loving.
I now refer you to this scene. This song is Disney's answer to "Defying Gravity," and it happens to be the best song in the film-- one that, if there is any justice in the world, will win the Oscar for Best Song. (The film's other songs, penned by husband and wife team Robert Lopez and Kristen Anderson-Lopez, are relatively forgettable, though Broadway greats like Santino and Jonathan Groff make the most of them.) Elsa, voiced with power and passion by the incomparable Idina Menzel of Wicked fame, has run away from her coronation ball and realizes there is no going back. (I dare you to watch this without getting goosebumps.)
This is one of Disney's best scenes of all time. It is empowering, moving, and rich in meaning and subtext. My favorite part of the song comes in at around the three-minute mark: "that perfect girl is gone," Elsa belts. Elsa's story is the story of every little girl. The story of struggling with the "good girl" mold that has contributed to identity crises for generations of women who try so hard to be perfect-- to be pretty, perfectly-formed, accomplished, demure, maternal, etc., etc., etc. Of course, this is an unrealistic expectation since we, as humans, are only perfect at being hopelessly imperfect. Elsa is not the perfect girl, and neither are the millions of young girls, mothers, grandmothers, and aunts who watch the film. And that's okay. In the context of Disney movies-- movies from a company that has done much, in its history, to perpetuate this mold of perfect womanhood-- this is an astonishing point.
Is Frozen the best Disney movie I've seen? Well, no. (For the record, I like Tangled a lot more. I don't think I'll ever get over the sky lantern scene.) But Frozen is important because it shows how Disney as a producer of stories for young people is moving forward-- it's willing to refocus its stories to celebrate the inner strength that empowers young girls and women. The film accomplishes so much in such a simple story. There is beauty buried beneath the icy layers of slapstick comedy, uneven script-writing, and mediocre music-- for, beneath the surface, deep in the soul of the film, there lies a flesh-and-blood princess of a picture reminding us that there is magic inside all of us.
Friday, January 10, 2014
Hustled by Russell
I really, really wanted to like American Hustle. It promised to be groovy, silly, smart, and sexy all at once-- but, it seems I've been hustled.
American Hustle is the latest film from director David O. Russell, whose Silver Linings Playbook made out quite well last year. I loved SLP-- it was the rare anti-romantic comedy that was actually, well, a romantic comedy. The cast had an easy task-- the characters were quirky and hopelessly flawed, an assortment of funny, honest, and unique men and women who were so profoundly of their world that you believed every line, trusted every shot, and rooted for their success. Bradley Cooper and Jennifer Lawrence helmed the film with intensity, humor, and a lot of profanity, and it became apparent that their characters' imperfections made Pat and Tiffany perfect for each other. I cared about Pat and Tiffany, their struggles, and the story that brought them together.
But, that's just the problem with American Hustle-- I didn't care about the story at all, and the characters' imperfections amounted to absolutely nothing. It is as if this film were more interested in creating caricatures rather than real characters. Now, I'll be the first to admit that Russell generally gets phenomenal performances from his actors. But, a great performance can only go so far-- the character itself must be compelling. Though the characters in American Hustle were interesting, I didn't care for them; consequently, I couldn't care about the story-- their journeys were meaningless, insignificant, and unimportant to me. As a result, Russell alienated me for 138 minutes, a running-time that crawled by at a snail's pace.
Simply because of the performances, I respect the film. But, did I enjoy the film? Hell no. Did I find it interesting? Nope. Would I recommend it? Not enthusiastically.
So, why is everyone raving about it? What it all comes down to is that I haven't drunk the David O. Russell Kool-Aid. Russell is the latest "it" director, a mantle strengthened by his reputation as an "actor's director" and his legion of loyal actors who want to work with him again and again. But all that glitters is not gold. I hope he will surprise me again, someday, with a film that has the sparkle, humor, and relevance of SLP. But until David O. Russell proves that SLP wasn't a fluke in his film canon, I'll continue to pass on the Kool-Aid like a sober kid in an overcrowded frat house filled with alcoholics drunk on their own self-importance.
American Hustle itself is an elaborate hustle, one whose disco soundtrack, vampy dresses, and over-the-top perms distract the audience from the terrible truth: that this film is only pretending to be something great, when it fact it's as fake and unsubstantial as Christian Bale's hair piece.
American Hustle is the latest film from director David O. Russell, whose Silver Linings Playbook made out quite well last year. I loved SLP-- it was the rare anti-romantic comedy that was actually, well, a romantic comedy. The cast had an easy task-- the characters were quirky and hopelessly flawed, an assortment of funny, honest, and unique men and women who were so profoundly of their world that you believed every line, trusted every shot, and rooted for their success. Bradley Cooper and Jennifer Lawrence helmed the film with intensity, humor, and a lot of profanity, and it became apparent that their characters' imperfections made Pat and Tiffany perfect for each other. I cared about Pat and Tiffany, their struggles, and the story that brought them together.
But, that's just the problem with American Hustle-- I didn't care about the story at all, and the characters' imperfections amounted to absolutely nothing. It is as if this film were more interested in creating caricatures rather than real characters. Now, I'll be the first to admit that Russell generally gets phenomenal performances from his actors. But, a great performance can only go so far-- the character itself must be compelling. Though the characters in American Hustle were interesting, I didn't care for them; consequently, I couldn't care about the story-- their journeys were meaningless, insignificant, and unimportant to me. As a result, Russell alienated me for 138 minutes, a running-time that crawled by at a snail's pace.
Simply because of the performances, I respect the film. But, did I enjoy the film? Hell no. Did I find it interesting? Nope. Would I recommend it? Not enthusiastically.
So, why is everyone raving about it? What it all comes down to is that I haven't drunk the David O. Russell Kool-Aid. Russell is the latest "it" director, a mantle strengthened by his reputation as an "actor's director" and his legion of loyal actors who want to work with him again and again. But all that glitters is not gold. I hope he will surprise me again, someday, with a film that has the sparkle, humor, and relevance of SLP. But until David O. Russell proves that SLP wasn't a fluke in his film canon, I'll continue to pass on the Kool-Aid like a sober kid in an overcrowded frat house filled with alcoholics drunk on their own self-importance.
American Hustle itself is an elaborate hustle, one whose disco soundtrack, vampy dresses, and over-the-top perms distract the audience from the terrible truth: that this film is only pretending to be something great, when it fact it's as fake and unsubstantial as Christian Bale's hair piece.
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
The Hobbit: The Romanticization of Tauriel
THE ELVES ARE BACK. I repeat, THE ELVES ARE BACK. Thank God
for that, because the elves weren’t in the first Hobbit... and it was boring as hell. But The Desolation of Smaug (I looooove that word, btw. Smauuuuuuuug. I want to bellow it into a
loudspeaker.) was surprisingly not boring. Scientific proof, people: the elves
make everything better.
Legolas is back! (Orlando Bloom, I love you, but never try to do Shakespeare again; you belong in Middle-earth, not Broadway.) Lee Pace is
the Elf-King—and he’s meaner than Anne Hathaway on a starve-day. Benedict
Cumberbatch is the wickedly dark voice of Smauuuuuug! Luke Evans is a
totally sympathetic (and studly) bargeman! Stephen Fry is a vaguely Louis XIV-esque, goofy tyrant with questionable hygiene and even more questionable morals! (Translation: "Jabba the Hutt meets Louis XIV." See what I mean?) So many exciting things in this Hobbit, people, that I only started to
get restless at hour 1.75 out of 2.75—not bad!
But, I really want to talk about the character "Tauriel."
Now, I haven’t read any of Tolkien’s books. My familiarity with Middle-earth
comes from Peter Jackson’s LOTR series, references from The Simpsons, and a tremendously trippy/traumatizing cartoon adaptation of The Hobbit from the 1970s that absolutely wrecked my childhood.
(Anecdotally, I break out in a cold sweat whenever I think about this movie; I
was so terrified of Gollum, that whenever he was on screen I would run away and
hide in the mud room of our house. I seriously can’t watch Gollum to this day, in any incarnation.
Creepy little bugger. Great, now I won’t be able to sleep tonight… ) But, Tauriel is a brand-spanking new character, conjured up by
the brilliance of PJ and his wife Fran. Though Tolkien purists may get their
LARPing capes and Gandalf beards in a twist over this, I, for one, love the idea of Tauriel.
Creating a new character that is consistent with Tolkien’s fantasy world is no
easy feat. And I love, love, love that PJ and Franny brought a
strong female character into the mix... especially since Tolkien's stories (in)famously lack gender parity. But,
fear not! We now have Tauriel! She is totally badass, well drawn, and complex. Move over, Liv Tyler. There's a new She-Elf in Mirkwood. (#NerdiestThingIHaveSaidAllDay)
 |
| Evangeline Lilly as "Tauriel." Is she channeling Robin Hood with an "I don't follow the rules" ethos?? |
But, it must be said: I'm not okay with the way PJ uses her character in the film. Don't get me wrong: her character is awesome, and Evangeline Lilly plays her with sharpness and sensitivity-- not an easy feat. But while I applaud PJ and Franny’s crafting of her, I
question the story path they’ve sent her down in this film. Without going into too much detail, I will reveal that she is a point in a love triangle. Though one character
pines for her, she—surprise!—develops feelings for another character. The
romantic in me loooooved this storyline, not only because it adds depth to her
chief suitor, but because Tauriel’s love interest (?) is so dang cute and cheeky.
(There is a glittering scene towards the end of the film where her
maybe-beloved makes a little speech about how Tauriel is like a celestial creature,
full of starlight and beauty. Swoon.
I can’t help myself with love-talk like that.) But, the feminist in me is disappointed. Why did the only female character in the entire film have to be part of a
love triangle?? PJ and Franny: don’t you see that this fits into the exhausted,
old-fashioned Hollywood mold where a woman is only useful if she is part of a
love story? How trite! How predictable! Why couldn’t she just be a badass
warrior who had to struggle against the prejudices leveled against her for being a
lower-order Elf? That’s drama enough!
I’m not the only reviewer who has brought up
these concerns about Tauriel—indeed, there seems to be a battle raging about her, with some angry at her and some loving her. Overall, I loved her character—she was feisty, interesting, and brought
some much-needed estrogen to this film. But at the same time, I can’t help wishing that
her sole purpose in the film wasn’t about heart strings and sentiment, but about
the same things that define the male characters: birthright, power,
fellowship. (Side note: allegedly, Evangeline Lilly, who is a LOTR fangirl, didn't like the love triangle subplot, either. She agreed to do the film on the condition that there would be no love triangle. But, obvs, things didn't pan out that way. Bummer.)
Bottom line: despite these plot flaws, Tauriel's character stands out. I'm rooting for her on her journey-- even if it is a love journey. Why? Because, fellowship. And, isn't that what Tolkien's work is all about?
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Here's Hoping for a Magnificent Maleficent
YOU. GUYS.
Disney released this poster today:
My conclusion: Disney's still got it! I think it's awesome that its willing to go so dark with one of the iconic, old-fashioned relics from the first Disney Golden Age. Personally, I think Sleeping Beauty has been long overlooked in the let's-reload-old-fairy-tales bandwagon. We've seen Cinderella stories ad nauseam (but, not that there's anything wrong with that). Beauty and the Beast has even gotten spoofed and its own CW update. And, as it turns out, 2012 was the year of the Snow White love fest. (Mirror, Mirror was a family-friendly, tongue-in-cheek homage to fairy tales with a quirky-delightful Bollywood dance number at the end-- Ned Stark dancing Bollywood?? OKAY! And, I might have been the only one who liked Snow White and the Huntsman, BUT I LIKED SNOW WHITE AND THE HUNTSMAN. I think we have to give the always exceptional Charlize Theron some credit for breaking ground in what is sure to be a new trend in fleshing out villain stories from classic fairy tales.) Maybe it's because I recently saw Matthew Bourne's brilliant, gothic reimagining of the Sleeping Beauty ballet at New York City Center, but I'm totally re-embracing the age-old story of Aurora, an evil fairy witch, and the handsome prince who saves her with true love's kiss. (Prince Philip, btw, is on my short list for studly 'toon dudes. Just saying.)
Also, whose idea was it to cast Angelina in this?? Because, GENIUS. Seriously, just look at her.
So, the short of the long is this: I'm cautiously optimistic! Maleficent looks like it could be magnificently stylish and cool! Stay tuned for a review next summer....
Disney released this poster today:
My conclusion: Disney's still got it! I think it's awesome that its willing to go so dark with one of the iconic, old-fashioned relics from the first Disney Golden Age. Personally, I think Sleeping Beauty has been long overlooked in the let's-reload-old-fairy-tales bandwagon. We've seen Cinderella stories ad nauseam (but, not that there's anything wrong with that). Beauty and the Beast has even gotten spoofed and its own CW update. And, as it turns out, 2012 was the year of the Snow White love fest. (Mirror, Mirror was a family-friendly, tongue-in-cheek homage to fairy tales with a quirky-delightful Bollywood dance number at the end-- Ned Stark dancing Bollywood?? OKAY! And, I might have been the only one who liked Snow White and the Huntsman, BUT I LIKED SNOW WHITE AND THE HUNTSMAN. I think we have to give the always exceptional Charlize Theron some credit for breaking ground in what is sure to be a new trend in fleshing out villain stories from classic fairy tales.) Maybe it's because I recently saw Matthew Bourne's brilliant, gothic reimagining of the Sleeping Beauty ballet at New York City Center, but I'm totally re-embracing the age-old story of Aurora, an evil fairy witch, and the handsome prince who saves her with true love's kiss. (Prince Philip, btw, is on my short list for studly 'toon dudes. Just saying.)
Also, whose idea was it to cast Angelina in this?? Because, GENIUS. Seriously, just look at her.
So, the short of the long is this: I'm cautiously optimistic! Maleficent looks like it could be magnificently stylish and cool! Stay tuned for a review next summer....
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