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Not counting my thoughts on The X-Files: I Want to Believe (posted below), I've only got two new published reviews for this Friday. And both films are well-worth the time of any moviegoers suffering from The Dark Knight fatigue.
Now Playing:
Step Brothers (Slant magazine)
Man on Wire (Cinematical)
UPDATE:
The Order of Myths (Cinematical)
The title of The X-Files: I Want to Believe is apt, articulating its story’s (and the cult TV show’s) principal theme with a thudding literalism indicative of its graceless, overtly-state-everything script. Ten years after their last big-screen outing, Fox Mulder (David Duchovny) and Dana Scully (Gillian Anderson) live together and have left the FBI, she to pursue a career as a medical doctor and he because of a nasty dispute with the government bureau to which he’d dedicated his life. The case of a missing FBI agent prompts Scully to convince a bearded Mulder to lend a hand (and shave), which he does after learning that the feds are enlisting the help of a pedophilic Catholic priest (Billy Connelly, sporting crazy-coot white hair) who claims to be receiving psychic visions about the disappearance. Duchovny and Anderson comfortably slip back into their trademark roles, and their rapport, always fraught with sexual tension, is now also colored by a melancholic realization that they may never wholly escape their troubled pasts. Meanwhile, writer/director/series creator Chris Carter systematically provides breadcrumb clues about his mystery, which involve severed limbs, packs of strange dogs, and stem cell research. Unfortunately, his reasonably firm grasp of thriller mechanics can’t enliven a tale that amounts to simply a mundane, overlong one of the show’s stand-alone, mythology-free episodes. I Want to Believe’s lack of anxious chills, however, is less troublesome than the narrative’s pile-up of neat-and-tidy parallels – Scully’s crisis of faith regarding a sick boy at a Catholic hospital is so impeccably harmonized with the primary plot’s concerns, it’s embarrassing – convenient twists and turns, and devotion to confronting its central preoccupation with belief (in oneself, God, science) via banal exposition. “Don’t give up!” is ultimately revealed to be the film’s mantra, though given the contrivances and clunky speeches that abound, it resonates less as a statement about the need to keep the faith than as Carter’s plea to fans whose reward for a decade of patience is merely this forgettable mediocrity.
Though I stand by my original criticisms, I've grown increasingly fond of Christopher Nolan's Batman Begins. His immensely anticipated follow-up, The Dark Knight, needs no such qualifications. It's flat-out great, and - let me also note - worth catching in IMAX, if at all possible.
Friday:
The Dark Knight (Slant magazine)
Felon (Slant magazine)
Transsiberian (Slant magazine)
Mad Detective (Slant magazine)
A Man Named Pearl (Slant magazine)
Take (Slant magazine)
The Doorman (Cinematical)
The Dark Knight screens tomorrow, so that review won't be up until later this week. In the meantime, though, I've got this somewhat belated batch. Enjoy.
Now:
Journey to the Center of the Earth (2008) (Slant magazine)
The Exiles (Slant magazine)
Diminished Capacity (Slant magazine)
Harold (Slant magazine)
Later:
Red (Slant magazine)
Year of the Fish (Slant magazine)
Fathers figure prominently in Hellboy II: The Golden Army – their sins, their legacies, and the responsibility that comes from turning into one. In this superlative sequel from Guillermo Del Toro, a cloud of parental duty hovers over Hellboy (Ron Perlman), who – having lost surrogate dad Trevor “Broom” Bruttenholm (John Hurt) in the 2004 original – grapples with issues of commitment, allegiance and sacrifice while oblivious to the fact that firestarter girlfriend Liz (Selma Blair) is pregnant. Maturation, though, isn’t quite what Del Toro is after for his horned protagonist in this rollicking, affecting comic book adaptation, as he continues to be the same crass, sarcastic and cantankerous secret government agent of his prior outing. That badass attitude, perfectly in tune with his muscular red-skinned physique, remains grafted to a surprisingly tender heart, with the hero still struggling to prove – to both himself and to the public from which his boss (Jeffrey Tambor) wants him hidden – that he’s more man than demon. His of-two-worlds nature becomes an especially pressing concern once ancient exiled Prince Nuada (Luke Goss) shatters his paterfamilias’ truce with the humans and pursues the key to the unstoppable Golden Army in order to incite war against mankind, a battle in which Hellboy, Liz, and psychic Abe Sapien (Doug Jones) – all supernatural creatures employed by mortal men – find themselves mired.
Del Toro’s baroquely bizarre imaginativeness has never been more mesmerizing than in Hellboy II, its cornucopia of extraordinary creatures (some beautifully melding flesh with metal) seemingly stolen from children’s nightmares, and its preponderance of metal gears intrinsically linked to the saga’s fascination with fate and free will. Tableaus of gorgeously disgusting majesty abound, such as one involving an angel of death whose eyes are situated in its wings, as well as two movies-worth of breathtaking action sequences, each notable for their distinctiveness, propulsive energy, and coherent visual dexterity, this last quality particularly present in Hellboy’s throwdown with the titular battalion. There’s a proficiency to each of the film’s set pieces – including Hellboy fighting a towering forest god while protectively cradling an infant – but, as importantly, a poignant center to the often-frenzied mayhem. Embodied by Perlman with a blustery gruffness that masks a sensitive soul, the rebellious Hellboy is a fountain of hilariously acerbic wisecracks. For all the humor, however, Del Toro consistently focuses his narrative on the crimson giant’s earnest, anguished desire to fit in, a yearning that stems from a conception of himself – formed during a childhood of watching Howdy Doody and clutching shiny toy six-shooters in bed – as fundamentally human.
The pain of outsiderdom and corresponding need for companionship course through Hellboy II’s heroes and villains, with Del Toro bestowing considerate complexity upon Prince Nuada by positioning him as a would-be destroyer driven by desperate self-preservation impulses. Empathy runs deep for these characters, providing the narrative with a sentimental spine that gives meaning and value to their rollercoaster-ride predicaments. Even more than in his much-heralded Pan’s Labyrinth, Del Toro wields outsized, seamless CG-animated fantasy to amplify internal turmoil, staging hectic, frenzied showstoppers that are emboldened by emotional and relationship dynamics. While the gaunt, acrobatic Nuada too closely resembles Blade II’s baddie (both portrayed by Goss), the director otherwise laces his mythic tale with shrewd cinematic allusions, be they an overt clip from Bride of Frankenstein (“We belong dead!”) or a sly, strange nod to Total Recall-via-Kindergarten Cop (a kid attached to a mutant adult’s torso states “I’m not a baby, I’m a tumor”). Yet abundant references aside, Hellboy II is about a man, a woman, and their attempts to achieve normalcy despite social alienation, identity confusion, and constantly intruding chaos, a story intensely rooted in that most essential of feelings – love – and the mad, selfish, destructive things people will do to both attain and retain it. Thrilling and touching in equal measure, it’s on the short list of great superhero films.
WALL·E is Pixar’s most overtly political film, but more impressive than its ecologically minded message is its modestly profound portrait of loneliness, obligation and the desire for reciprocated affection. On an abandoned future Earth – its skyscrapers standing alongside towers of garbage, its horizon mucked up by endless fast food billboards, and its dusty atmosphere cluttered by defunct satellite detritus – the clean-up job has been left to a series of small trash compactor robots, of which there remains only one operating model. His name is WALL·E, a 700-year-old invention that rolls about deserted streets performing his preprogrammed duty with his lone friend, a small bug, and collecting interesting debris from the society that long since abandoned its birthplace. In his home/shop, WALL·E repairs himself with spare parts from fellow ‘bots, organizes his stash of knickknacks, and watches Hello Dolly, dancing in time with the movie’s stars and pining, sorrowfully, for another sentient creature to romantically hold his hand. He’s an artificial mechanism with a beating heart, his bond to humanity and its world evidenced by his construction – he recycles man’s garbage by physically inserting it into his chest cavity – his nightly habit of rocking himself to sleep, and his droopy, soulful eyes.
WALL·E’s solitary existence is forever shattered by the appearance of Eve, a sleek white female robot with an iPod exterior – a nod, along with WALL·E’s “on” chime, to Apple – and a no-nonsense attitude backed up by a massive gun blaster. In its initial half-hour, encompassing WALL·E’s day-to-day routine and his life-changing encounter with Eve, Andrew Stanton’s film proves to be a largely silent affair marked by the type of graceful, expressive visual storytelling that hasn’t been seen in a children’s film since the days of Snow White. It’s a daring gambit in this age of bigger-faster-louder family entertainment, and though this approach will likely challenge very young viewers, WALL·E’s opening passages boast a warm, delicate artistry that’s simply masterful. Stanton’s gorgeously animated directorial follow-up to Finding Nemo compassionately and powerfully establishes its pint-sized protagonist’s circumstances and emotional longing, such that when the automaton braves a fierce lightening storm to hold an umbrella over an immobilized Eve – who enters a state of suspended shutdown after receiving, from WALL·E, a rare valuable living plant growing in a dingy shoe filled with soil – the film achieves a stunning measure of poignancy.
WALL·E is a receptacle and guardian of human history, a being who understands – despite its glaring failings – modern civilization’s unique beauty. And via his subsequent adventure aboard the intergalactic cruise ship The Axiom upon which people now reside, he also becomes its hero. In space, people have been reduced to fat, slothful idiots who are shuttled to and fro in hoverchairs (replete with projection screens used for communication and entertainment purposes) by computers designed by Earth’s big business-cum-government Buy-N-Large. Pointing the finger for man’s devolution at submission and obedience to corporate interests, and censuring our environmental neglect, WALL·E is stingingly critical. Its political consciousness, however, never morphs into a sermon, its argument in favor of individuality, of possessing a larger awareness about the world in which one resides, always intrinsically grafted to WALL·E’s relatable yearning for companionship. Requirements to provide last-act good-vs.-evil action set pieces – which come equipped with amusing 2001 allusions – are respectfully carried out. Yet this animated marvel is most epic when operating on a small, personal scale, ultimately earning its esteemed place in the Pixar canon not only through top-notch CG, expertly orchestrated chase sequences, and provocative pro-green viewpoints, but also through its depiction of love’s capacity for making us more than what we might otherwise be.
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