* * 1/2
D: Zack Snyder (Henry Cavill, Amy Adams, Diane Lane, Michael Shannon, Russell Crowe, Kevin Costner, Laurence Fishburne)
PG-13 / C-143m / USA | Canada | UK
Saw this last night in the VIP Room, which had a eerily blue-lit lounge leading
into a cozy theatre with 3D, roomy seating and servers to bring food
and drink before the show. Very nice for this kind of film, meaning best
for epic action films like Iron Man and Star Trek.
I enjoyed
this _immensely_. Henry Cavill as the Man of Steel is gorgeous and plays
the part well. He's not Christopher Reeve, but he delivered the goods.
It would too easy to compare the 1978 film with this one. It isn't a
continuation of the original film series, nor is MoS trying to be. It's a
reboot of the Superman mythos, like 2012's The Amazing Spiderman. It's
about the same character, but not the same guy, if that makes sense.
No spoilers here, but if you ever want to see the film and discuss, let
me know. I have nitpicks, but it would be churlish to do it here. In
general, it lacked laughs and took itself very seriously. A little more
comic book feel wouldn't hurt. More wonder and character development,
less explosions and over the top CGI. There were subtle allusions to
Christianity if you look for them. I didn't mind that, but it was kind
of obvious and unnecessary. I liked the way Clark Kent/Superman is
immensely uncomfortable in his own skin, and feels alone in a way that even
his loving adoptive parents could never completely understand, although
they try. I never thought there would be a down side to having
superpowers (which I still would like to have, btw), but it's
effectively demonstrated in the Smallville scenes. Young Clark doesn't
enjoy his abilities as a child. It definitely isolates him, and he
doesn't know how to interact people when, say, he isn't saving his
classmates from a sinking school bus. He can never let anyone get too
close.
Some characters I would recast, like Amy Adams as Lois
Lane. Wonderful actress, but her Lois is a little too likable and
soft-spoken. Lois Lane is supposed to be cynical and abrasive. She's
supposed to be a brunette. But what I liked was that this LL was not a
stupid damsel in distress. You know, Lois stuck her reporter's nose
where it didn't belong and got kidnapped... it must be Thursday! One
thing I like about Adams' LL is that she doesn't deliberately throw
herself into Niagara Falls to flush out her mystery man, like Margo
Kidder did in the 1980 sequel. She's smarter than that.
Most
film goers just want to enjoy a fun night out, and they'll get it. Purists
like me will want to dissect it and compare to the best interpretations
of the Superman character. There are too many to list, but my personal
favourites are the first two Superman movies directly by Richard Donner
before they went to hell with Richard Pryor, and Superman: The Animated
Series. I enjoyed Superman Returns (2006) with Brandon Routh, but a lot
of people were disappointed by it. It was not bad, just different from
the Christopher Reeve series. Yep, I'm a total girl geek.
If
you go in without rigid expectations of what Superman is supposed to
be, you'll be pleasantly surprised. Christopher Nolan (director of the
The Dark Knight series) produced it and I suspect he acted as
consultant. No doubt there will be a sequel, maybe even a trilogy. The
Dark Knight trilogy is one of the best in recent memory, even if I
didn't love everything part of it. For instance, I hated the Rachel
Dawes character (played by Katie Holmes in the first movie, Maggie
Gyllenhaal in the second). I understand that she was Bruce Wayne's first
love and conscience, but to me she was a nag and a bore. Necessary to
the plot, yes. But I couldn't stand her and waited impatiently for
Catwoman to show up. Worth the wait.
Anyway, I was
never bored. The story moves along at a brisk pace and it's great to
see big name stars play the familiar characters. I would have loved to
see more of Kevin Costner and Diane Lane as Clark Kent's adoptive
parents Jonathon and Martha Kent. They are the heart of the movie, in my
opinion. Michael Shannon is no Terence Stamp, but he chews up the
scenery like a pitbull and brings the psychotic General Zod to
terrifying life.
And that soundtrack kicked it -- just epic and heartstopping.
I look forward to seeing it again, although it'll be in a regular theatre. We VIPs have to save up for the right occasion.
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
June 16, 2013
January 07, 2012
THE BRADY BUNCH MOVIE (1995)
* * *
D: Betty Thomas. Gary Cole, Shelley Long, Christine Taylor, Jean Smart, Michael McKean, Christopher Daniel Barnes, Jennifer Elise Cox, Paul Sutera, Olivia Hack, Jesse Lee Soffer, Harriette Mantel
PG-13 for racy innuendoes; 90 min. USA
Tagline: They're back to save America from the '90s
A better tagline would be, Put on your Sunday best, kids, we’re going to Sears! As an appreciative viewer, one definitely needs to have grown up watching the popular sit-com that ran from 1969 to 1974 and its awful sequels about a blended family to appreciate this gem. It also helps to have a healthy contempt/affection for anything from the 1970s. I have both, so I loved it. I remember those horrible tacky clothes from Sears and wanting long blonde hair like Marcia.
This time around, the Bradys are a 70s family completely unaware that they're living in the 1990's, and even less aware that they just aren't remotely cool. Gary Cole and Shelley Long (Cheers) are a riot as Mike and Carol Brady respectively, especially Cole, who steals every scene he's in as a pedantic, clueless 70s dad who practically holds everyone in the room hostage in order to drone today's 'lesson' as long as possible. We all know patriarchal windbags like this guy, and Cole just runs with it and scores a touchdown.
Also of note is Jennifer Elise Cox, who gives her Jan Brady a wicked, almost psychotic spin as the middle sister who tries so hard to be an upbeat Brady and smothers her rage over the blatant favouritism shown to vain airhead Marcia (Christine Taylor, a near dead ringer for Maureen McCormick).
Watch out for cameos of icons from the 70s - to reveal more would ruin the fun of discovering them for yourself.
D: Betty Thomas. Gary Cole, Shelley Long, Christine Taylor, Jean Smart, Michael McKean, Christopher Daniel Barnes, Jennifer Elise Cox, Paul Sutera, Olivia Hack, Jesse Lee Soffer, Harriette Mantel
PG-13 for racy innuendoes; 90 min. USA
Tagline: They're back to save America from the '90s
A better tagline would be, Put on your Sunday best, kids, we’re going to Sears! As an appreciative viewer, one definitely needs to have grown up watching the popular sit-com that ran from 1969 to 1974 and its awful sequels about a blended family to appreciate this gem. It also helps to have a healthy contempt/affection for anything from the 1970s. I have both, so I loved it. I remember those horrible tacky clothes from Sears and wanting long blonde hair like Marcia.
This time around, the Bradys are a 70s family completely unaware that they're living in the 1990's, and even less aware that they just aren't remotely cool. Gary Cole and Shelley Long (Cheers) are a riot as Mike and Carol Brady respectively, especially Cole, who steals every scene he's in as a pedantic, clueless 70s dad who practically holds everyone in the room hostage in order to drone today's 'lesson' as long as possible. We all know patriarchal windbags like this guy, and Cole just runs with it and scores a touchdown.
Also of note is Jennifer Elise Cox, who gives her Jan Brady a wicked, almost psychotic spin as the middle sister who tries so hard to be an upbeat Brady and smothers her rage over the blatant favouritism shown to vain airhead Marcia (Christine Taylor, a near dead ringer for Maureen McCormick).
Watch out for cameos of icons from the 70s - to reveal more would ruin the fun of discovering them for yourself.
August 16, 2010
NANNY McPHEE (2005)
* * *
D: Kirk Jones: (Emma Thomson, Colin Firth, Kellie McDonald, Imelda Staunton, Derek Jacoby, and Angela Lansbury)
PG for mild thematic elements, some rude humor and brief language.97 m. US/UK/France
Tagline: You'll learn to love her. Warts and all.
Very charming fairy tale fantasy about a widower with seven rambunctuous children and a mysterious, magical nanny who comes into their lives. Strong elements of Mary Poppins, The Sound of Music, and Edward Scissorhands, yet completely original. A whimsical, gentle comedy and veddy, veddy British.
July 27, 2009
GIDGET (1959)
* * *
General, C-95m, USA.
D: Paul Wendkos. Sandra Dee, James Darren, Cliff Robertson, Arthur O’Connell, Yvonne Craig, The Four Preps.
Tagline: Watch out Brigitte...here comes Gidget!
This is basically a corny coming-of-age story, with a look at the social mores of the Eisenhower era. It’s fun, silly, innocent, and the best of the “Gidget” movies, bar none. I couldn’t bear to sit through those, even for a few minutes. Yet I love this movie for its kitchiness - it's like looking at old photographs and smiling at the silly hairdos, and thinking, "Wow, we looked so dorky. Wonder what the old gang is doing now?"
It’s the summer of ’59 and Francie Lawrence (an annoyingly perky Sandra Dee) is sixteen, petite, as one character puts, "practically pushing seventeen!" She’s an only child, doted on by her well-to-do parents Russell and Dorothy (Arthur Kennedy and Mary La Roche). Her friends (including one ambiguous female nicknamed "B.L." (for Betty Louise) and Yvonne "Batgirl" Craig) are all boy-crazy and she reluctantly lets herself get dragged on a ‘man hunt’.
“She just has to make it this summer!” one girl squeals.
"Oh, poor Francie. Back to senior year with nothing to show for it!” The girlfriends pose and preen on the sand, waiting for the guys to notice them. Francie keeps 'ruining the picture', whatever that means. She has no figure to speak of, which is a running joke.
The male surfers don’t want a girl around. “This beach is for surfers only, not dames.”
"Oh, I’m not a dame…” she protests.
Rather alarmingly, they cluster around her. “Well, it has all the earmarks of a dame.”
One leers at her flat chest, “Those aren’t ears.” Ugh.
The manhunt is declared a 'dry run'. “Say, let’s go to Santa Barbara, but without the papoose in tow.”
She realizes that her presence is unwanted and opts to go swimming on her own instead of continuing the manhunt.
“Francie, you’ve always been part of a foursome!” Patti, one of her friends reproaches in a half-hearted attempt to include her. “You’ll be an outcast, out in the cold!”
"It's already happened, Patti. I just don't fit in anymore."
I really detested her so-called 'friends'. They’re catty, shallow, and just plain horrible. I know they’re only characters, but I get the feeling that there is some basis in reality for this portrayal, given the time they’re living in. We've all met the kind of women they grow up to become.
Despite her declaration that she's a 'real good swimmer', Francie nearly drowns twice and has to be rescued by Moondoggie, one of the surfers. As he guides them back to the beach on his surfboard, they encounter a big wave and the thrill makes her forget that she almost drowned. As most of us know, he will be her first love and have to suffer through four bad sequels and a TV series and Gidget will be a different girl every time. The poor guy starts with Sandra Dee and somehow finds himself with Deborah Whalley and Sally Field before she became a flying nun. After the rescue, she meets the guys who jeered at her earlier: Hot Shot, Stinky, Loverboy, Waikiki, Lord Byron. The leader, dubbed the Big Kahuna (Hawaiian for 'chief'), is a good-looking older guy in his thirties. They're wholesome beach bum types, though hoodlums by Eisenhower standards, meaning those of Francie's stuffy father.
Her love interest, Moondoggie (James Darren) is a wannabe, a trust fund brat who ditches college because, in his words, he can’t measure up to the old man. His man-crush on Kahuna is pretty laughable, though I suppose the latter is supposed to be a father figure – one who doesn’t make demands.
Bitten by the surfing bug, Francie begs for early birthday money to buy a used board and then devotes herself to learning the sport. The guys nickname her ‘Gidget’ (meaning ‘girl midget) and she becomes their mascot. The ‘initiation’ is pretty rough: Moondoggie, though somewhat nicer to her than the others, nearly drowns the poor kid, shoving her head underwater to cut kelp. It’s a very sadistic scene. She barely has time to gulp some air before he forces her head down again. I felt sick watching it. Through a few surfy misadventures, Moondoggie develops protective feelings toward her, much against his will. When he begins to acknowledge his feelings, it's patronizing. "A girl like you is a lot of responsibility." I felt like saying, "Gee whiz. Like a puppy?"
Eventually, Gidget practices on her own and learns the Ways of the Surfer. "Surfing is out of this world. You can't imagine the thrill of the shooting the curl. It positively surpasses every living emotion I've ever had!" It's this enthusiasm that makes this kid sparkle. The only character to treat her with some respect is Kahuna (Cliff Robertson), meaning he doesn’t make fun of her like the others. The other guys worship him, especially Moondoggie, who constantly says things like, “We’re two of a kind, the Kahuna and me!” Yep, total man-crush.
Later we discover that Kahuna isn’t what he seems, and in bid to make Moondoggie jealous, Gidget gets in way over her head when Kahuna almost forgets that “it’s just a game.” In some ways, he’s the most interesting character in the movie. He’s not a bad man, but a weary one. He enjoys his position as alpha dog to a point, but knows that at the end of the summer, he’ll have to move on to the next beach or grow up. Part of the burden is the gang’s adulation – how does a guy live up to his own reputation when it’s not who he is? Or wants to be? Gidget gets him thinking, which echoes the words of her grandmother’s sampler: A real woman brings out the best in a man. Old-fashioned, but in some ways true. It could apply to anyone. Why not replace ‘woman’ with ‘parent’ and ‘man’ with ‘child’? I’m sure there are other variations of someone bringing out the best in another person. Still, too bad Kahuna was too old for her. I’d take him over everyone else in this movie.
Her mother is a good listener, though her advice is definitely geared to steer Gidget on the road to happy housewife. Mary La Roche gives a sly performance, giving the 50’s Mom role more spin than another actress would. She’s understanding and supportive, without being a blankly smiling Stepford wife. Arthur Kennedy (also in 1955’s Picnic) is a doting, but clueless father who needs his wife to calm him down during Gidget’s antics. He just wants his daughter to date the ‘right kind of boy’ – hence his constant hints of fixing her up with the dull son of a colleague. When Gidget eagerly tells her about the ‘crew’ and Moondoggie, Mom fishes gently, “And is he the one you like best?”
Poor Gidget just isn’t ready to date, despite a dubious ‘happy ending’. Her ‘coming-of-age’ is forced upon her through shunning (by her girlfriends) and gentle pressure from her well-meaning parents, leading to her desperation to be accepted before senior year. Kids develop at different rates, and I don't believe anyone should be pushed into adult situations, no matter how old they are physically. If they're emotionally fragile, the results could be disastrous.
But this sunny film has its dark side, which is unusual for films of this genre and time. At first glance, it's a silly beach party film like the ones Annette Funicello and Frankie Avalon used to frolic in, but the subtext beneath the insipid dialogue shows what Hollywood wanted society to be. Feminism was barely existent in films, but some tried. And probably got rewritten in order to force a 'happy ending', in case some impressionable young girl got "ideas" and strayed from the path of wife and motherhood. And make sure that those crazy kids didn't find living on the beach too attractive. Otherwise, they might quit school, tear up their rich daddy's cheque of $150.00, and call themselves "Moondoggie". Oh, those hooligans...
Everyone treats her like crap; even her own parents insult her. Russell, her father, watching Francie approach the house in her soggy bathing gear, asks doubtfully, “That’s a ‘manhunter’?”
Dorothy, her mother retorts, “What did you expect? Kim Novak?”
Francie: Gee, thanks, Mom and Dad. Love you, too. By the way, why don't you take a look at these brochures? These places have the cutest names, don't you think? Sunnyrest, Shady Oaks, Sunset Manor...
Gidget and 1986's Dirty Dancing are so similar that I wonder if the former inspired the other. Both feature gawky young girls coming of age, learning to surf and dance, respectively. Their names are similar (Francie "Gidget" Lawrence and Frances "Baby" Houseman). They're both denied access to groups (because of Gidget's immaturity and Baby's social position). Only Gidget doesn't have Patrick Swayzie to back her up when she gets put in the corner. The novel by Frederick Kohner is a better, more thoughtful story. Based on the real-life adventures of his teenaged daughter and embellished for dramatic purposes, the novel was described as a "Catcher in the Rye for girls". I read it, and was surprised to find that it wasn’t far off the mark. The novel - originally entitled, Gidget, the Little Girl with Big Ideas - is more realistic, and I found her teenage slang both quaint and charming. I love the beatnik lingo: "Creamy!" (for wonderful) and lines like, "Pretend you're real gone over me. Gimme the mad rush." Man, I wish I could say stuff like that without getting a blank stare.
I also prefer the way she handled being fought over by two guys in the book. Instead of sticking around to see who ‘wins’ her (like most movies are wont to do), she grabs her board and shoots the curl, ignoring everyone’s shouts, completely absorbed in the perfect wave.
Give 'em the finger, kid. Nobody puts Gidget in the corner.
General, C-95m, USA.
D: Paul Wendkos. Sandra Dee, James Darren, Cliff Robertson, Arthur O’Connell, Yvonne Craig, The Four Preps.
Tagline: Watch out Brigitte...here comes Gidget!
This is basically a corny coming-of-age story, with a look at the social mores of the Eisenhower era. It’s fun, silly, innocent, and the best of the “Gidget” movies, bar none. I couldn’t bear to sit through those, even for a few minutes. Yet I love this movie for its kitchiness - it's like looking at old photographs and smiling at the silly hairdos, and thinking, "Wow, we looked so dorky. Wonder what the old gang is doing now?"
It’s the summer of ’59 and Francie Lawrence (an annoyingly perky Sandra Dee) is sixteen, petite, as one character puts, "practically pushing seventeen!" She’s an only child, doted on by her well-to-do parents Russell and Dorothy (Arthur Kennedy and Mary La Roche). Her friends (including one ambiguous female nicknamed "B.L." (for Betty Louise) and Yvonne "Batgirl" Craig) are all boy-crazy and she reluctantly lets herself get dragged on a ‘man hunt’.
“She just has to make it this summer!” one girl squeals.
"Oh, poor Francie. Back to senior year with nothing to show for it!” The girlfriends pose and preen on the sand, waiting for the guys to notice them. Francie keeps 'ruining the picture', whatever that means. She has no figure to speak of, which is a running joke.
The male surfers don’t want a girl around. “This beach is for surfers only, not dames.”
"Oh, I’m not a dame…” she protests.
Rather alarmingly, they cluster around her. “Well, it has all the earmarks of a dame.”
One leers at her flat chest, “Those aren’t ears.” Ugh.
The manhunt is declared a 'dry run'. “Say, let’s go to Santa Barbara, but without the papoose in tow.”
She realizes that her presence is unwanted and opts to go swimming on her own instead of continuing the manhunt.
“Francie, you’ve always been part of a foursome!” Patti, one of her friends reproaches in a half-hearted attempt to include her. “You’ll be an outcast, out in the cold!”
"It's already happened, Patti. I just don't fit in anymore."
I really detested her so-called 'friends'. They’re catty, shallow, and just plain horrible. I know they’re only characters, but I get the feeling that there is some basis in reality for this portrayal, given the time they’re living in. We've all met the kind of women they grow up to become.
Despite her declaration that she's a 'real good swimmer', Francie nearly drowns twice and has to be rescued by Moondoggie, one of the surfers. As he guides them back to the beach on his surfboard, they encounter a big wave and the thrill makes her forget that she almost drowned. As most of us know, he will be her first love and have to suffer through four bad sequels and a TV series and Gidget will be a different girl every time. The poor guy starts with Sandra Dee and somehow finds himself with Deborah Whalley and Sally Field before she became a flying nun. After the rescue, she meets the guys who jeered at her earlier: Hot Shot, Stinky, Loverboy, Waikiki, Lord Byron. The leader, dubbed the Big Kahuna (Hawaiian for 'chief'), is a good-looking older guy in his thirties. They're wholesome beach bum types, though hoodlums by Eisenhower standards, meaning those of Francie's stuffy father.
Her love interest, Moondoggie (James Darren) is a wannabe, a trust fund brat who ditches college because, in his words, he can’t measure up to the old man. His man-crush on Kahuna is pretty laughable, though I suppose the latter is supposed to be a father figure – one who doesn’t make demands.
Bitten by the surfing bug, Francie begs for early birthday money to buy a used board and then devotes herself to learning the sport. The guys nickname her ‘Gidget’ (meaning ‘girl midget) and she becomes their mascot. The ‘initiation’ is pretty rough: Moondoggie, though somewhat nicer to her than the others, nearly drowns the poor kid, shoving her head underwater to cut kelp. It’s a very sadistic scene. She barely has time to gulp some air before he forces her head down again. I felt sick watching it. Through a few surfy misadventures, Moondoggie develops protective feelings toward her, much against his will. When he begins to acknowledge his feelings, it's patronizing. "A girl like you is a lot of responsibility." I felt like saying, "Gee whiz. Like a puppy?"
Eventually, Gidget practices on her own and learns the Ways of the Surfer. "Surfing is out of this world. You can't imagine the thrill of the shooting the curl. It positively surpasses every living emotion I've ever had!" It's this enthusiasm that makes this kid sparkle. The only character to treat her with some respect is Kahuna (Cliff Robertson), meaning he doesn’t make fun of her like the others. The other guys worship him, especially Moondoggie, who constantly says things like, “We’re two of a kind, the Kahuna and me!” Yep, total man-crush.
Later we discover that Kahuna isn’t what he seems, and in bid to make Moondoggie jealous, Gidget gets in way over her head when Kahuna almost forgets that “it’s just a game.” In some ways, he’s the most interesting character in the movie. He’s not a bad man, but a weary one. He enjoys his position as alpha dog to a point, but knows that at the end of the summer, he’ll have to move on to the next beach or grow up. Part of the burden is the gang’s adulation – how does a guy live up to his own reputation when it’s not who he is? Or wants to be? Gidget gets him thinking, which echoes the words of her grandmother’s sampler: A real woman brings out the best in a man. Old-fashioned, but in some ways true. It could apply to anyone. Why not replace ‘woman’ with ‘parent’ and ‘man’ with ‘child’? I’m sure there are other variations of someone bringing out the best in another person. Still, too bad Kahuna was too old for her. I’d take him over everyone else in this movie.
Her mother is a good listener, though her advice is definitely geared to steer Gidget on the road to happy housewife. Mary La Roche gives a sly performance, giving the 50’s Mom role more spin than another actress would. She’s understanding and supportive, without being a blankly smiling Stepford wife. Arthur Kennedy (also in 1955’s Picnic) is a doting, but clueless father who needs his wife to calm him down during Gidget’s antics. He just wants his daughter to date the ‘right kind of boy’ – hence his constant hints of fixing her up with the dull son of a colleague. When Gidget eagerly tells her about the ‘crew’ and Moondoggie, Mom fishes gently, “And is he the one you like best?”
Poor Gidget just isn’t ready to date, despite a dubious ‘happy ending’. Her ‘coming-of-age’ is forced upon her through shunning (by her girlfriends) and gentle pressure from her well-meaning parents, leading to her desperation to be accepted before senior year. Kids develop at different rates, and I don't believe anyone should be pushed into adult situations, no matter how old they are physically. If they're emotionally fragile, the results could be disastrous.
But this sunny film has its dark side, which is unusual for films of this genre and time. At first glance, it's a silly beach party film like the ones Annette Funicello and Frankie Avalon used to frolic in, but the subtext beneath the insipid dialogue shows what Hollywood wanted society to be. Feminism was barely existent in films, but some tried. And probably got rewritten in order to force a 'happy ending', in case some impressionable young girl got "ideas" and strayed from the path of wife and motherhood. And make sure that those crazy kids didn't find living on the beach too attractive. Otherwise, they might quit school, tear up their rich daddy's cheque of $150.00, and call themselves "Moondoggie". Oh, those hooligans...
Everyone treats her like crap; even her own parents insult her. Russell, her father, watching Francie approach the house in her soggy bathing gear, asks doubtfully, “That’s a ‘manhunter’?”
Dorothy, her mother retorts, “What did you expect? Kim Novak?”
Francie: Gee, thanks, Mom and Dad. Love you, too. By the way, why don't you take a look at these brochures? These places have the cutest names, don't you think? Sunnyrest, Shady Oaks, Sunset Manor...
Gidget and 1986's Dirty Dancing are so similar that I wonder if the former inspired the other. Both feature gawky young girls coming of age, learning to surf and dance, respectively. Their names are similar (Francie "Gidget" Lawrence and Frances "Baby" Houseman). They're both denied access to groups (because of Gidget's immaturity and Baby's social position). Only Gidget doesn't have Patrick Swayzie to back her up when she gets put in the corner. The novel by Frederick Kohner is a better, more thoughtful story. Based on the real-life adventures of his teenaged daughter and embellished for dramatic purposes, the novel was described as a "Catcher in the Rye for girls". I read it, and was surprised to find that it wasn’t far off the mark. The novel - originally entitled, Gidget, the Little Girl with Big Ideas - is more realistic, and I found her teenage slang both quaint and charming. I love the beatnik lingo: "Creamy!" (for wonderful) and lines like, "Pretend you're real gone over me. Gimme the mad rush." Man, I wish I could say stuff like that without getting a blank stare.
I also prefer the way she handled being fought over by two guys in the book. Instead of sticking around to see who ‘wins’ her (like most movies are wont to do), she grabs her board and shoots the curl, ignoring everyone’s shouts, completely absorbed in the perfect wave.
Give 'em the finger, kid. Nobody puts Gidget in the corner.
July 05, 2009
THE ARISTOCATS (1970)
* * 1/2
General. 78m, USA
D: Wolfgang Reitherman. Phil Harris, Eva Gabor, Sterling Holloway, Scatman Crothers, Liz English, Dean Clark, Gary Dubin, Paul Winchell, Monica Evans, Carole Shelley, Nancy Culp, Hermione Baddeley, Pat Buttram, George Lindsey.
Tagline: DIG THESE CATS...and all that JAZZ!
The Aristocats is a sentimental favourite of mine. I remember loving it and begging to see it over and over when I was four. Those were the days when Disney only released its animated classics once every seven years. There were no videos or DVDs to look forward to a couple of months later. You had to see the movie at the theatre at the time of release, and if you missed it, you didn't see it again until you hit puberty. And you thought waiting for Christmas morning was bad enough.
The story opens in 1910 Paris, with Maurice Chevalier warbling the title song; then we see an elegantly coiffed old woman ride in a horse-drawn carriage with her family of pampered cats. Chevalier's singing voice is horribly, nasally French – and with a name like mine, I can say that with impunity - he was good in Gaslight, but ever since seeing his leering lothario purring, "Thank Heaven for Little Girls" in 1958's Gigi, he gives me the willies.
Madame Bonfamille, a retired actress/opera singer (which, in those days wasn't far removed from being considered a prostitute), lives a comfortable life of luxury in a big townhouse with Duchess and her three rambunctious kittens. Mother Duchess (Eva Gabor), a beautiful white lady cat, is as refined and elegant as her mistress. The Aristokits are cute, squabbling siblings, all wearing different coloured bows and ribbons to show how wuvved they are. Ginger kit Toulouse is the artistic, pugnacious one, grey kitten Berlioz bangs a mean keyboard, and prissy little Marie, who's a fluffy white miniature version of her mother, is a precocious romantic whom we later discover has the beginnings of an Electra complex. True to the way girl characters were portrayed in the days before Kim Possible, she often gets in the way and needs to be saved from danger.
Madame invites Georges Harcourt, an elderly lawyer (it's hinted that he may also be an old beau) to her home to write her will. How she got this old and rich without even thinking about wills until now will remain a mystery. When the lawyer arrives, Edgar the butler admits him inside the mansion and has to assist the old boy up a 99-stepped staircase when he pooh-poohs using the elevator instead. I wondered, why not install a motorized chair alongside the wall, like Mrs. Deagle? Finally, he makes it to her parlour, and Edgar eavesdrops as Madame instructs Georges to put her cats in the will, then stipulates that dear, faithful Edgar shall inherit her fortune only after the kitties die.
Edgar, who was a good sport before, is naturally pissed off. With his awesome math powers, he realizes that with all those nine lives times four, that he'll never get his mitts on the money before kicking the bucket himself. So he decides to dope the cats' milk (and Roquefort, their mouse buddy by accident) and take them for a little ride in the countryside to 'disappear'.
Not that I blame him for not wanting to wait until the cats shop ‘til they drop, spending millions of francs, but wouldn't it have been smarter to kill Madame and the cats all at the same time and then dump the bodies into the Seine River? Or how about disguising the cats by dipping them in soot, like in 101 Dalmations? But that's just me and my evil brain.
In his attempts to help poor ol' Edgar, my equally evil brother suggested, "Why not wait until Madame dies and the kittens are in his care! Wait a few weeks and then start adding drainer fluid in the cat's milk. Poison them gradually so it looks like they're sick. The best part is he'd be home alone doing this." Upon further discussion, he also suggested dropping each cat in different parts of the country so they don’t get recognized as a ‘group’ of missing felines.
Edgar couldn't get into our gang of criminal masterminds.
Later that night, the cats wake up near a river in a storm, and are terrified and baffled as to how they got there, even though Toulouse keeps saying, "I bet it was old Edgar." Meanwhile, back at the mansion (or as I like to call it, The Cat Cave), Roquefort miraculously wakes from his drugged slumber and dons his cute li’l little Sherlock Holmes outfit and investigates the case of the missing cats, but gets nowhere. It even makes the headlines of the local papers, which is strange. Um, slow news day? Also, if his tiny body mass absorbed the same dosage as the cats, how come it didn’t kill him outright? Now, there’s a case for this Mouse Detective. It could be like D.O.A., that old 1949 noir thriller where Edmond O’Brien is poisoned and has only a few hours to find out who murdered him before he croaks. Alas, ol' Diz never took risks.
Jungle Book alumnae Phil Harris lends his easygoing voice to the O'Malley, a roguish but charismatic alley cat who gets the hots for Duchess and gallantly agrees to help her get home, and reluctantly lets the kids tag along. Eventually, he develops a paternal affection for the little cock-blockers. Hmmm… reddish Toulouse looks an awful lot like him. In fact, none of her kids resemble each other in either fur or eye colour. Maybe Duchess was an "actress" too.
Along the way, they meet a psychotic milkman, and in a scene similar to Stand by Me, barely escape getting mowed down by a train. Marie keeps falling into harm's way and constantly needs to be rescued by O'Malley, who in turn needs to be rescued from Adelaide and Abigail Gabble, a pair of giggly geese on a walking tour of France (Monica Evans and Carole Shelley, doing a slight variation of their shtick from their roles in 1967's Robin Hood). Finally, O'Malley finds a Best Western motel or his 'pad' - don't you just dig that beatnik jive in 1910 France? Then, in the film's most enjoyable sequence, introduces the family to Scat Cat (Scatman Crothers, who voiced King Louie in The Jungle Book in 1967) and his band of jammin’ alley cats. The scene looks like it was shot with coloured cellophane and acid, but it's way more exciting than the catnapping subplot. And I love the way the Scat Cats "crashed" the party.
The music is a mixed bag of French café musack and weird “Disney rock” - that strangely generic "mod" sound that hopelessly square producers invented - sort of Lawrence Welk with sped-up wow-wow-wow guitars, drums, and a pulse. Eg: You may have heard Hayley Mills "rocking out" in “Let’s Get Together” in The Parent Trap. Yes, Disney was still trying to be ‘hip’ with the 1960's "swingers" set, even though the story was set in 1910. He did it again in Robin Hood and Jungle Book. Like, groovy, Daddy-O!
There are a couple of sequences where Edgar encounters two country dogs named incongruously dubbed Napoleon (Pat Buttram) and Lafayette (George Lindsey). There's a point to these scenes, but they simply drag on too long for attention spans shorter than the lifespan of fruit fly - namely mine. Though episodic, and with mild racial sterotypes which you might have to explain to the kiddiwinks, The Aristocats is still lively enough to keep the kids' attention without insulting their intelligence (or yours), and a lot of fun, especially when the cats jam in O'Malley's 'pad' with "Everybody Wants to be a Cat". Young children will enjoy it, and it's a worthy addition to their DVD library. And those who grew up treasuring Disney classics will enjoy it too.
The whimsical artwork is charming, and has more of a watercolour medium than the richer tones of other films. The characters are appealing and memorable. The voice actors were mostly veterans from past Disney features, and they all do a terrific job, especially Phil Harris as O'Malley, who seems to channel his "Baloo" persona and infuse it with a pick-up artist on the make who just happens to be a romantic and is genuinely surprised to discover that he's actually good with kids. Eva Gabor (who would voice Miss Bianca in the The Rescuers movies years later), is fine as Duchess, though the character herself is more pretty than interesting. The kittens all have different personalities, although Marie undoubtedly stands out the most. Just check out all the "Marie" merchandise at any Disney store. I'm surprised it's not called "Marie's Place" instead.
Hmmm... sounds like a whorehouse in the Old West, doesn't it?
General. 78m, USA
D: Wolfgang Reitherman. Phil Harris, Eva Gabor, Sterling Holloway, Scatman Crothers, Liz English, Dean Clark, Gary Dubin, Paul Winchell, Monica Evans, Carole Shelley, Nancy Culp, Hermione Baddeley, Pat Buttram, George Lindsey.
Tagline: DIG THESE CATS...and all that JAZZ!
The Aristocats is a sentimental favourite of mine. I remember loving it and begging to see it over and over when I was four. Those were the days when Disney only released its animated classics once every seven years. There were no videos or DVDs to look forward to a couple of months later. You had to see the movie at the theatre at the time of release, and if you missed it, you didn't see it again until you hit puberty. And you thought waiting for Christmas morning was bad enough.
The story opens in 1910 Paris, with Maurice Chevalier warbling the title song; then we see an elegantly coiffed old woman ride in a horse-drawn carriage with her family of pampered cats. Chevalier's singing voice is horribly, nasally French – and with a name like mine, I can say that with impunity - he was good in Gaslight, but ever since seeing his leering lothario purring, "Thank Heaven for Little Girls" in 1958's Gigi, he gives me the willies.
Madame Bonfamille, a retired actress/opera singer (which, in those days wasn't far removed from being considered a prostitute), lives a comfortable life of luxury in a big townhouse with Duchess and her three rambunctious kittens. Mother Duchess (Eva Gabor), a beautiful white lady cat, is as refined and elegant as her mistress. The Aristokits are cute, squabbling siblings, all wearing different coloured bows and ribbons to show how wuvved they are. Ginger kit Toulouse is the artistic, pugnacious one, grey kitten Berlioz bangs a mean keyboard, and prissy little Marie, who's a fluffy white miniature version of her mother, is a precocious romantic whom we later discover has the beginnings of an Electra complex. True to the way girl characters were portrayed in the days before Kim Possible, she often gets in the way and needs to be saved from danger.
Madame invites Georges Harcourt, an elderly lawyer (it's hinted that he may also be an old beau) to her home to write her will. How she got this old and rich without even thinking about wills until now will remain a mystery. When the lawyer arrives, Edgar the butler admits him inside the mansion and has to assist the old boy up a 99-stepped staircase when he pooh-poohs using the elevator instead. I wondered, why not install a motorized chair alongside the wall, like Mrs. Deagle? Finally, he makes it to her parlour, and Edgar eavesdrops as Madame instructs Georges to put her cats in the will, then stipulates that dear, faithful Edgar shall inherit her fortune only after the kitties die.
Edgar, who was a good sport before, is naturally pissed off. With his awesome math powers, he realizes that with all those nine lives times four, that he'll never get his mitts on the money before kicking the bucket himself. So he decides to dope the cats' milk (and Roquefort, their mouse buddy by accident) and take them for a little ride in the countryside to 'disappear'.
Not that I blame him for not wanting to wait until the cats shop ‘til they drop, spending millions of francs, but wouldn't it have been smarter to kill Madame and the cats all at the same time and then dump the bodies into the Seine River? Or how about disguising the cats by dipping them in soot, like in 101 Dalmations? But that's just me and my evil brain.
In his attempts to help poor ol' Edgar, my equally evil brother suggested, "Why not wait until Madame dies and the kittens are in his care! Wait a few weeks and then start adding drainer fluid in the cat's milk. Poison them gradually so it looks like they're sick. The best part is he'd be home alone doing this." Upon further discussion, he also suggested dropping each cat in different parts of the country so they don’t get recognized as a ‘group’ of missing felines.
Edgar couldn't get into our gang of criminal masterminds.
Later that night, the cats wake up near a river in a storm, and are terrified and baffled as to how they got there, even though Toulouse keeps saying, "I bet it was old Edgar." Meanwhile, back at the mansion (or as I like to call it, The Cat Cave), Roquefort miraculously wakes from his drugged slumber and dons his cute li’l little Sherlock Holmes outfit and investigates the case of the missing cats, but gets nowhere. It even makes the headlines of the local papers, which is strange. Um, slow news day? Also, if his tiny body mass absorbed the same dosage as the cats, how come it didn’t kill him outright? Now, there’s a case for this Mouse Detective. It could be like D.O.A., that old 1949 noir thriller where Edmond O’Brien is poisoned and has only a few hours to find out who murdered him before he croaks. Alas, ol' Diz never took risks.
Jungle Book alumnae Phil Harris lends his easygoing voice to the O'Malley, a roguish but charismatic alley cat who gets the hots for Duchess and gallantly agrees to help her get home, and reluctantly lets the kids tag along. Eventually, he develops a paternal affection for the little cock-blockers. Hmmm… reddish Toulouse looks an awful lot like him. In fact, none of her kids resemble each other in either fur or eye colour. Maybe Duchess was an "actress" too.
Along the way, they meet a psychotic milkman, and in a scene similar to Stand by Me, barely escape getting mowed down by a train. Marie keeps falling into harm's way and constantly needs to be rescued by O'Malley, who in turn needs to be rescued from Adelaide and Abigail Gabble, a pair of giggly geese on a walking tour of France (Monica Evans and Carole Shelley, doing a slight variation of their shtick from their roles in 1967's Robin Hood). Finally, O'Malley finds a Best Western motel or his 'pad' - don't you just dig that beatnik jive in 1910 France? Then, in the film's most enjoyable sequence, introduces the family to Scat Cat (Scatman Crothers, who voiced King Louie in The Jungle Book in 1967) and his band of jammin’ alley cats. The scene looks like it was shot with coloured cellophane and acid, but it's way more exciting than the catnapping subplot. And I love the way the Scat Cats "crashed" the party.
The music is a mixed bag of French café musack and weird “Disney rock” - that strangely generic "mod" sound that hopelessly square producers invented - sort of Lawrence Welk with sped-up wow-wow-wow guitars, drums, and a pulse. Eg: You may have heard Hayley Mills "rocking out" in “Let’s Get Together” in The Parent Trap. Yes, Disney was still trying to be ‘hip’ with the 1960's "swingers" set, even though the story was set in 1910. He did it again in Robin Hood and Jungle Book. Like, groovy, Daddy-O!
There are a couple of sequences where Edgar encounters two country dogs named incongruously dubbed Napoleon (Pat Buttram) and Lafayette (George Lindsey). There's a point to these scenes, but they simply drag on too long for attention spans shorter than the lifespan of fruit fly - namely mine. Though episodic, and with mild racial sterotypes which you might have to explain to the kiddiwinks, The Aristocats is still lively enough to keep the kids' attention without insulting their intelligence (or yours), and a lot of fun, especially when the cats jam in O'Malley's 'pad' with "Everybody Wants to be a Cat". Young children will enjoy it, and it's a worthy addition to their DVD library. And those who grew up treasuring Disney classics will enjoy it too.
The whimsical artwork is charming, and has more of a watercolour medium than the richer tones of other films. The characters are appealing and memorable. The voice actors were mostly veterans from past Disney features, and they all do a terrific job, especially Phil Harris as O'Malley, who seems to channel his "Baloo" persona and infuse it with a pick-up artist on the make who just happens to be a romantic and is genuinely surprised to discover that he's actually good with kids. Eva Gabor (who would voice Miss Bianca in the The Rescuers movies years later), is fine as Duchess, though the character herself is more pretty than interesting. The kittens all have different personalities, although Marie undoubtedly stands out the most. Just check out all the "Marie" merchandise at any Disney store. I'm surprised it's not called "Marie's Place" instead.
Hmmm... sounds like a whorehouse in the Old West, doesn't it?
June 03, 2009
UP (2009)
* * * *
G C-96m. USA
D: Pete Dokter. Ed Asner, Christopher Plummer
The poster is great – the incongruous sight of a scowling old guy with a nose like a Muppet holding a balloon still cracks me up. The promotional trailers showed just enough to intrigue – a grouchy old man somehow launches his house into the air with hundreds of colourful helium balloons.
“So long, boys!” he crows, blowing a raspberry at his would-be captors. He has escaped, and settles into his armchair with a sigh of relief.
Then there’s a knock on the door.
A chubby little boy in a scout-like uniform is frantically clinging to the porch wall for dear life. “Hi, Mr. Fredrickson. Please let me in!”
The old codger considers the request, then decides. “No.” Slams the door.
A moment later, the door opens again. “Oh, all right!”
The terrified kid dashes inside.
Carl Fredrickson (Ed Asner, who practically invented the curmudgeon in his iconic role of grumpy editor Lou Grant in The Mary Tyler Moore Show) is the unlikely hero of this story. We first meet him as a squat, pug-faced (but kinda cute) little boy in a helmet and goggles as he raptly gazes at the newsreel starring his hero Charles Muntz (voiced by Christopher Plummer of The Sound of Music) – an explorer who mysteriously disappears soon afterward. He is the fragile link between two very different kids who discover that they have more in common than a shared hero worship.
Through a sweet montage, Little Carl meets the love of his life, a gap-toothed little girl named Ellie, whose imagination and zest for adventure is the catalyst of this tale. She’s a talkative little dynamo, the yin to Carl’s yang. There is a beautiful and heartbreaking sequence that takes the pair through decades of a truly wonderful life. Even the simple act of collecting the mail has meaning. If you ever wonder about the old widower (or widow) next door who wanders around lost and mutters to someone you can’t see, perhaps they had an extraordinary marriage like Carl and Ellie. Hell, even I wanted to marry Carl. In fact, this particular sequence reminded me of another happy marriage set in a similar time (though cut short by tragedy). See Monster House. No review here, but just rent the darned thing. It’s awesome.
But life happens, and Carl has to carry on alone. The happy home is like an extinguished candle. He’s aimless, depressed, and through one misunderstood (but totally understandable) act, is sentenced to losing his house and living in a nursing home with others like him, all waiting for visitors, waiting for death.
But Carl Fredrickson is one wily old guy. He was a balloon salesman in his younger days, and still has the equipment… which leads to a daring escape from two orderlies from the nursing home. Then he discovers that he has a stowaway.
This is one of the best animated adventure films I’ve seen. We take a wonderful, harrowing trip to South America and see foliage, animals, and temples that have obviously been lovingly researched and animated for this movie.
Up is driven by character, not events. Neither of the main older characters is the least bit grandfatherly – they don’t sit around in rocking chairs hollering, “Get off my lawn” and complaining about young people today. I really appreciate the fact these seniors aren’t resigned to passing the torch to the younger generation. They are just as complex, flawed, angry, loving, ambitious, and greedy as anyone. Not everyone mellows with age. Carl’s personality may have been soured by grief, but he is not a bad person. He’s snarky, entertains disturbing (but funny!) fantasies how to get rid of a certain annoying guest, and has inventive ways to using his walker and dentures. I love this guy.
On the other hand, I fully believe that if someone is a nasty jerk in their old age, they were likely a nasty jerk in their youth. Just because they’re slower, more wrinkled, and look like someone’s kindly old grandfather doesn’t mean that they can’t be evil. Bob Dylan once said, “Never trust anyone over thirty.” Boy, if he only knew…
Back to Carl: His actions make sense – not because a cyclone uprooted his house and set it down in a magical land populated by Munchkins and talking trees – but because of his former occupation as a balloon salesman and a life touched by a very special woman. This is truly about a dream shared by two people and how far one of them is willing to go to make it a reality, even without his soul mate. But even when Carl addresses his deceased wife – because we’ve met the strong-willed Ellie and briefly experienced their life together – we can almost see her too. There are no ghosts here – just effectively storytelling.
This is just the set-up. I do not want to spoil anything for you. This beautiful film celebrates life – all the small everyday pleasures, like sharing an ice cream, cloud-gazing, painting a room together, and not just yearning – but planning for adventure. It’s a buddy movie of opposites – which we’ve all seen before. It urges us, not only to appreciate small happy moments with your loved ones, but to realize that not all of life’s curveballs are bad ones, that you may not know you want something until you get it. Recognize the gift of having someone special in your life. Character-driven storytelling in a family film is rare today – but an expected staple in a Pixar movie. Pixar delivers a terrific film that is perfect for all ages. It’s emotional without being schmaltzy, and just a helluva a lot of fun. If you aren’t moved at all, you must have a shriveled raisin for a heart.
Just go and enjoy Up. It’s pure magic. And leave the curmudgeon in your life at home... unless he’s a balloon salesman.
G C-96m. USA
D: Pete Dokter. Ed Asner, Christopher Plummer
The poster is great – the incongruous sight of a scowling old guy with a nose like a Muppet holding a balloon still cracks me up. The promotional trailers showed just enough to intrigue – a grouchy old man somehow launches his house into the air with hundreds of colourful helium balloons.
“So long, boys!” he crows, blowing a raspberry at his would-be captors. He has escaped, and settles into his armchair with a sigh of relief.
Then there’s a knock on the door.
A chubby little boy in a scout-like uniform is frantically clinging to the porch wall for dear life. “Hi, Mr. Fredrickson. Please let me in!”
The old codger considers the request, then decides. “No.” Slams the door.
A moment later, the door opens again. “Oh, all right!”
The terrified kid dashes inside.
Carl Fredrickson (Ed Asner, who practically invented the curmudgeon in his iconic role of grumpy editor Lou Grant in The Mary Tyler Moore Show) is the unlikely hero of this story. We first meet him as a squat, pug-faced (but kinda cute) little boy in a helmet and goggles as he raptly gazes at the newsreel starring his hero Charles Muntz (voiced by Christopher Plummer of The Sound of Music) – an explorer who mysteriously disappears soon afterward. He is the fragile link between two very different kids who discover that they have more in common than a shared hero worship.
Through a sweet montage, Little Carl meets the love of his life, a gap-toothed little girl named Ellie, whose imagination and zest for adventure is the catalyst of this tale. She’s a talkative little dynamo, the yin to Carl’s yang. There is a beautiful and heartbreaking sequence that takes the pair through decades of a truly wonderful life. Even the simple act of collecting the mail has meaning. If you ever wonder about the old widower (or widow) next door who wanders around lost and mutters to someone you can’t see, perhaps they had an extraordinary marriage like Carl and Ellie. Hell, even I wanted to marry Carl. In fact, this particular sequence reminded me of another happy marriage set in a similar time (though cut short by tragedy). See Monster House. No review here, but just rent the darned thing. It’s awesome.
But life happens, and Carl has to carry on alone. The happy home is like an extinguished candle. He’s aimless, depressed, and through one misunderstood (but totally understandable) act, is sentenced to losing his house and living in a nursing home with others like him, all waiting for visitors, waiting for death.
But Carl Fredrickson is one wily old guy. He was a balloon salesman in his younger days, and still has the equipment… which leads to a daring escape from two orderlies from the nursing home. Then he discovers that he has a stowaway.
This is one of the best animated adventure films I’ve seen. We take a wonderful, harrowing trip to South America and see foliage, animals, and temples that have obviously been lovingly researched and animated for this movie.
Up is driven by character, not events. Neither of the main older characters is the least bit grandfatherly – they don’t sit around in rocking chairs hollering, “Get off my lawn” and complaining about young people today. I really appreciate the fact these seniors aren’t resigned to passing the torch to the younger generation. They are just as complex, flawed, angry, loving, ambitious, and greedy as anyone. Not everyone mellows with age. Carl’s personality may have been soured by grief, but he is not a bad person. He’s snarky, entertains disturbing (but funny!) fantasies how to get rid of a certain annoying guest, and has inventive ways to using his walker and dentures. I love this guy.
On the other hand, I fully believe that if someone is a nasty jerk in their old age, they were likely a nasty jerk in their youth. Just because they’re slower, more wrinkled, and look like someone’s kindly old grandfather doesn’t mean that they can’t be evil. Bob Dylan once said, “Never trust anyone over thirty.” Boy, if he only knew…
Back to Carl: His actions make sense – not because a cyclone uprooted his house and set it down in a magical land populated by Munchkins and talking trees – but because of his former occupation as a balloon salesman and a life touched by a very special woman. This is truly about a dream shared by two people and how far one of them is willing to go to make it a reality, even without his soul mate. But even when Carl addresses his deceased wife – because we’ve met the strong-willed Ellie and briefly experienced their life together – we can almost see her too. There are no ghosts here – just effectively storytelling.
This is just the set-up. I do not want to spoil anything for you. This beautiful film celebrates life – all the small everyday pleasures, like sharing an ice cream, cloud-gazing, painting a room together, and not just yearning – but planning for adventure. It’s a buddy movie of opposites – which we’ve all seen before. It urges us, not only to appreciate small happy moments with your loved ones, but to realize that not all of life’s curveballs are bad ones, that you may not know you want something until you get it. Recognize the gift of having someone special in your life. Character-driven storytelling in a family film is rare today – but an expected staple in a Pixar movie. Pixar delivers a terrific film that is perfect for all ages. It’s emotional without being schmaltzy, and just a helluva a lot of fun. If you aren’t moved at all, you must have a shriveled raisin for a heart.
Just go and enjoy Up. It’s pure magic. And leave the curmudgeon in your life at home... unless he’s a balloon salesman.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
