Harry Potter 1 & 2

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (2001)
Score: 4 / 5

By far the most successful element of this film (and the whole cinematic franchise) is its cast. How Rowling's fledgling wizarding world managed to charm an A-list supporting cast (who further deign to take backseat to a lead ensemble of untried children) is beyond me. Maggie Smith heroically dons McGonagall's emerald robe with biting style and a lot of heart. Alan Rickman perfectly embodies the sour Snape, complete with grim theatricality and slippery sass. Richard Harris nobly steps into Dumbledore's shoes with elegance, though his delivery feels neither as witty nor as eccentric as Rowling's Headmaster; interestingly, he sympathizes with rather than warns the students who could die in the third-floor corridor. Other shining stars include John Hurt (Ollivander), Zoe Wanamaker (as a brilliantly designed Madame Hooch), John Cleese (Nearly Headless Nick), David Bradley (a twisted, icky Filch), Julie Walters (Molly Weasley), Warwick Davis (Flitwick), Ian Hart (as a particularly fabulous Quirrell), and Richard Griffiths and Fiona Shaw (Vernon and Petunia Dursley).

Besides this truly amazing cast, we are presented with total unknowns in an ensemble of fresh Hogwarts students who immediately steal our hearts. Daniel Radcliffe dominates as the titular protagonist with intelligence and heart. Emma Watson matches his every moment with perfect delivery and strength. Rupert Grint follows their lead -- but only slightly -- with incredible facials and impeccable timing. This triumvirate of adolescent power carries the film as if they were the world's best actors in another life. Also noteworthy are the delightful Matthew Lewis (Neville Longbottom) and Devon Murray (Seamus Finnigan), as well as the charmingly sneering Tom Felton (Draco Malfoy). We can only imagine what working with these children (and introducing them to the world of blockbuster cinema) was like for the cast and crew.

Beautiful costumes adorn our lovely cast, and they inhabit a stunningly realized castle. Vibrant colors, intriguing shapes, and fresh designs make the sets and costumes palpably tactile. Lighting in the film highlights these elements, and adds to the colorful visuals in stunning and iconic fashion; pause the movie and at any given moment, the lights (and how they play off the set and costumes) will tell you all you need to know. The camera, however, does not serve the film as well as these other elements: its straightforward, simplistic approach seems out of place in context. The score, sets, acting, dialogue, costumes, and lights have opinions on the subject matter, so the camera should too. Especially during the first forty minutes, ineffective editing adds to the two-and-a-half-hours running time with redundancy, sometimes using two or three shots for a single image.

A brief note on the score. Legendary musician John Williams hits it out of the park in a breathtaking musical experience that feels especially inspired when contrasted with Star Wars, Jurassic Park, and Indiana Jones. But, like those films, the score here feels dangerously powerful. Whereas a rousing theme piece in an action film often works well, here it can be distracting. That's not to say I don't listen to the soundtrack independently all the time; it's to say that a strong score can threaten a film's cohesive effect if mishandled.

The Quidditch match is the movie's best sequence. Its brilliant pacing and editing, tense humor and action, and self-sustaining energy make it endlessly entertaining. Excerpted from the film, it stands alone as a blueprint for how to film a sports scene, complete with melodrama and fast but focused camerawork. Exciting and inventive, it serves as a masterful centerpiece to the film. Though it arguably serves a symbolic purpose in Harry's coming-of-age narrative, I find Columbus's emphasis of this particular sequence concerning. Its prominence in the film overshadows the real heart of Harry's story, and highlights the director's ambiguous estimate of who he wants his audience to be.

Sorcerer's Stone is a cautious (if creative) adaptation of Rowling's novel, and underneath its colorful spectacle lies a rigidly traditional frame. Seemingly in his effort to accommodate cinephiles as well as Rowling fans, Columbus sacrifices courageous artistry in favor of simpler, gentler filmmaking. In doing so, he barely masks his own uncertainty about the thematic core of his story. Most of the film feels like an attempt at direct translation, with little or no artistic identity of its own (even the creativity in bringing Rowling's descriptions to life fears straying from her tale). My only thought that tempers this criticism is that, at the time of filming, Rowling had only published four books in the series; Columbus exhibited laudable (if somewhat exploitative) initiative in crafting this popular project when its creator had yet to complete her vision.

IMDb: The Sorcerer's Stone

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (2002)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Chris Columbus and his team rectify almost all their previous mistakes with this second venture into the wizarding world. In fact, Chamber of Secrets surpasses the first installment in almost every way, including its hefty running time (it is the longest film of all eight, though the second shortest book). Columbus bravely presents the film in slightly darker tones, gently introducing shadows where previously we saw sparkles; though he may not have known it, this inspired each subsequent director to similarly darken the images and filter out bright colors. Fitting, because Harry's world is not always one of warm, vivid lights, even in Rowling's description.

As the cast is largely the same, I won't repeat the praises. Richard Harris's performance is stronger, while the children are slightly weaker in more recycled behaviors; perhaps Columbus gave them freer reign or less direct attention, thinking that their raving audiences would take whatever was given them. The new additions to the cast are heavenly. A spirited Julie Walters reappears as Molly Weasley, but this time is accompanied by the very funny Mark Williams as her husband Arthur. Jason Isaacs commands his presence as Lucius Malfoy with wicked glee, and Shirley Henderson hilariously brings Moaning Myrtle to life (or something like that). Toby Jones memorably voices Dobby the House-elf; keeping in mind that 2002 also saw Gollum brought to glorious life in The Two Towers, Dobby is happily an independent creation that charms his way onto the screen. Of course, the gold prize must be given to Kenneth Branagh, who oozes fabulous ferocity as the charmingly nauseating Gilderoy Lockhart.

In a somewhat surprising and immensely effective move, Columbus injects a lot of (mostly queer) sexual imagery and symbols into the film; their presence is undeniable, though attributing them all to Columbus is perhaps undue. He obviously worked with actor Christian Coulson to craft a memorable, imposing, and not a little homoerotic character in Tom Marvolo Riddle. His sly interest in Harry culminates in a suggestive and highly symbolic climax in the titular cavern under the school, and their wildly complicated interaction makes for one of the most intriguing and intelligent character choices in the franchise. And the Quidditch match, though not quite as masterful as in the previous film, heightens the ambiguous tension between Harry and Draco, which culminates in their subversive encounter while Harry is under the influence of Polyjuice Potion.

Besides the remarkable character creativity, Columbus continues to excel in building sets. The Burrow is an endearing addition to the beginning of the movie, as is the wonderful and brief gaze into Knockturn Alley. Dumbledore's magnificent office stands out as stunningly realized in its intricate detail. Unfortunately, though, the score is not as successful. While it isn't as overbearing as in the first film, it also feels generally repeated (with a few lovely exceptions). Familiar themes are important, but even some moments in the film induce déjà vu solely because of the music.

The spider sequence is arguably the best in the film. The excellent, atmospheric background music and excellent special effects bring the monsters to haunting animation. Quite different from the novel, the whole scene is inventive and fresh. Harry and Ron step through a spider-infested tunnel, large hairy legs follow them through the forest, and Aragog is one impressive animatronic. Radcliffe and Grint impressively lead the action, and though computer-generated creatures dominate the visuals, the camera maintains its control and focus. The chase, from spiders descending upon our heroes to the flying Ford Anglia bowling them over, is taut and riveting. It remains one of the best giant spider sequences in any film, and gives me shivers every time I think on it.

IMDb: The Chamber of Secrets

The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel (2011)

Score: 4.5 / 5

John Madden (director of Shakespeare in Love (1998), Proof (2005), The Debt (2010), Mrs Brown (1997), and Ethan Frome (1993), if you didn't know) heads this delightful excursion into another world. A ragtag group of retirees find themselves in search of something they've been missing their whole lives: life. So they pack their bags for India and the promise of a luxurious hotel "for the elderly and beautiful." After arriving at their dilapidated destination, romance and comedy ensue in one of the most memorable adult fantasies in recent history.

A dream cast creates this ensemble picture, and their respective wits increasingly sharpen each other for the two-hour running time. Judi Dench, Bill Nighy, Tom Wilkinson, and Maggie Smith display their comic and dramatic selves in masterful performances that drive straight to the heart. Supporting these four are Penelope Wilton, Ronald Pickup, and Celia Imrie, who each display fabulous comedic timing and sassy characterizations. Dev Patel (whom I only remember from 2008's Slumdog Millionaire) expertly plays the optimistic, almost manic hotel manager.

Ensemble casts are beautiful when each member is given ample time to shine, though this is understandably difficult to accomplish. Madden succeeds in balancing his A-listers with his unknowns, and allowing each to perform at their relaxed and intelligent best. And though there is some criticism that the film employs racist and ageist stereotypes, I think that for every stereotype it hints at (never overt or condescending) it also depicts the realities of the cultures in question. India may be the exotic Other of the film, but so are the "invading" Westerners, in a way, who carry most of the film's social baggage with them. And the infectious joy flooding off the screen highlights diversity and community, rather than humorous riffs off cultural differences. Ultimately the film explores the psychology of older people attempting to reclaim their lives; the fact that they are in India is merely a symbolic manifestation of their place in an unfamiliar world. Madden obviously admires it for its unique beauty, and graciously shares that vision with us.

 With its script of hilarious one-liners and occasionally heightened dialogue, the film sparkles at every turn. It feels neither forced nor trivial in its expertly weaved pattern of drama and comedy. Though the romantic element is by no means original, Madden keeps a relaxed grip on its reins. He isn't interested in geriatric titillation, but rather in a notion that increased age should not equate to increased torpidity. These characters are yearning for something more; as such, they are both desperate and vulnerable. They are also relatively alone in a strange country with only each other to lean upon. Despite these extreme internal forces, each character bravely reaches out in order to make some sense of their new lives. And the actors capture every nuance of that complex identity.

IMDb: The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug (2013)

Score: 4 / 5

We're going to dive right in, so if you haven't read my review of An Unexpected Journey (2012), I recommend that you do. This review is for the theatrical release of The Desolation of Smaug; if the extended edition improves my opinion, as I truly think it may, I will add to this post accordingly. Also, I'll say here that I love the movie, and am so thankful that Peter Jackson has continued his venture into Middle-earth. That said, let's dig a little deeper.

Starting with the positives: The acting in this film is just about as solid as the previous one. But what really works here is that we don't have to slog through introductions and basic character development, because we already know these guys (sorry, but there's only one woman here). Martin Freeman and Richard Armitage take off on a dramatic marathon from the opening scene, and don't let up until about five seconds after the final blackout (if you're not holding your breath when Bilbo delivers his last line, you're doing it wrong). Each proves to be heavyweight champions of the film because they allow for greater gravitas and desperation, far more than their lighter-hearted performances in Journey. The other dwarves don't matter as much; their sparkling individuality from the first film is glossed over into a largely ambiguous chorus. I don't think it's a bad change, either; their performances are all decent (even those who don't speak in this one), and with the introduction of new characters, time simply could not be spared. Ian McKellan is of course in splendid form as Gandalf, but his role is unfortunately clipped and laden with superfluity and spectacle; more on that later.

Now for the newcomers, all of whom are exciting and welcome additions to the franchise. Luke Evans steals the show as Bard (the Bargeman, not Bowman? Okay, P Jackson, I see you), the rugged and dangerous man who reminds us perhaps a bit too much of Aragorn. Evans skillfully navigates the waters of rebellious indignation while maintaining his role as sympathetic father, and promises great things for his forthcoming redemption. Similarly outstanding is the ethereal Lee Pace as Thranduil, the Elf-King, whose movement and voice work is chillingly elegant, and whose anger boils under an icy surface with palpable heat. Orlando Bloom happily returns as a more dangerous Legolas, though his fraught love life seems both contrived and disjointed (obviously not Bloom's fault). Evangline Lilly plays his love interest, the Elf Tauriel, in a very welcome if unfortunately tacky female presence. And, finally, Benedict Cumberbatch beautifully voices the titular diabolic dragon with such beauty and power that the voice could be vibrating up from the earth itself.

Besides the acting, two elements of the film work exceptionally well. First is the typically beautiful score by Howard Shore. Second is the breathtaking Lake Town. The inspired design and architecture, overlaid with a fresh color scheme and stunning set decoration, steals the entire film. Watery and cold, sturdy and rustic, the set provides atmosphere out the wazoo and gives a sharp and gritty edge to the middle episode of this Hobbit trilogy. Also in its favor, a greasy Stephen Fry hops into the film for a delightfully wicked turn as the slippery Master of Lake Town.

But little else in the film pays off like it should. The whole product feels disjointed and unfocused. Spinningly fluid camerawork speeds over moments that could be lovely and forces empty spectacle on otherwise dramatically taut visuals (as we see in the eaves of Mirkwood, near the Ringwraith tombs, and all over Dol Guldur). The atmosphere and background artwork of these scenes is brilliant, but the camerawork sacrifices drama for spectacle. Used selectively, this type of photography could work. But almost every shot in the movie is kinetic, and at such speed or angles that the action becomes confused and the drama insubstantial. And some visuals are so overwrought with special effects that they lose focus and tangibility. Special effects should be special, buttressing the visuals rather than commanding them for two and a half hours.

Don't get me wrong, the film is visually stunning. But I'm using this film as a sort of example to express my fear that this is the direction of all fantasy or adventure franchises (I was concerned with Maleficent in the same way). I worry that we will soon be in over our heads with films featuring top-heavy action without drama, special effects for disconnected spectacle, and extravagant visuals that are ultimately nothing much to look at. Elaborate design only works if it supports the art's substance.

An equally problematic element is Desolation's surprisingly lazy script. At least three lines are directly stolen from LotR. Tauriel's use of athelas mirrors Arwen's in Fellowship (2001), and the Master's henchman Alfrid (though potentially a memorable creation) has a woefully similar design to Wormtongue in Two Towers (2002). We know Jackson's team has incredible creative talents, so why is he resigning himself to familiar patterns? Some have argued that these elements tie Hobbit and LotR together; I contend that with only six films, the filmmakers should focus on expanding their universe and covering as much ground as possible artistically as dramatically, rather than reinforcing vague patterns that ultimately mean nothing to the plot of the films or the themes of Tolkien's works. The source material, cast, and crew are consistent between the trilogies, and that is more than enough to bridge the gap.

The script also features severe pacing problems, which surprised me because Jackson has proven time and again his brilliant control over pacing lengthy films. After an atmospheric, talky prologue (a risky and arguably successful move), the film flies at breakneck speed -- sadly skimming the surface of the rich Beorn episode and reducing the adventures in Mirkwood to a mere fraction -- to the halls of the Mirkwood elves, where it screeches to a halt. There it assumes acceptable dramatic pace, maintained until the dwarves enter the Lonely Mountain. Meanwhile, Gandalf's independent ventures are forcibly spliced in in brief and irregular increments. His scenes are so fast, heavy with special effects, and whirling visuals ad nauseam that they feel part of another movie entirely. Finally, let me say that while the romantic weirdness between Tauriel, Legolas, and Kili the dwarf is interesting, it also feels hopelessly contrived and poorly executed. But I'll stop there, or we'd be here until the new movie comes out.

Scene study time! To further illustrate the central problem with this movie, let's discuss how the above elements work (poorly) in the climax, when the dwarves finally face Smaug in Erebor. Though Bilbo's initial encounter with Smaug is lovely, Thorin enters to interrupt his escape. We've spent two whole movies fretting about the state of the mountain and the dangerous potency of Smaug, and now the heir to the kingdom just saunters down to check out what the burglar's been doing? This could work, if we attribute his behavior to his obsession with the gold, but it doesn't make any sense that he would enter after the dwarves heard that Smaug was awake. Then, when Smaug spots Thorin and Bilbo, the remaining dwarves just charge in and brandish their weapons. As if they think that will do anything. The whole situation is laughably stupid.

The harried scheme concocted by the dwarves is similarly silly, and the whole final act is poorly executed by the filmmakers. The plot is needlessly complicated, and the editing jerks us from one set of dwarves to another as the different "teams" race around to start fires, move billows, yank levers, swing on chains, and shout obscure things. The dwarves' ludicrous efforts notwithstanding, the writers wanted to make an already complicated sequence more exciting by forcing several Tense Moments when main characters could die: Bilbo leaping off a collapsing platform high in the air, Thorin swinging up and down on a chain above an abyss. And, finally, though Smaug logically seems to focus on Thorin, he easily (and uncharacteristically, in my estimation) gets sidetracked by the other dwarves in their cat-and-mouse game.

I am biased, but for the sake of argument, Tolkien wrote a fitting encounter that works much better logistically and dramatically: Encamped on the slopes of Erebor, the dwarves are attacked by Smaug, who secretly issued from his lair after chatting with Bilbo. Jackson could have expanded that -- as he does so well -- and made it just as dramatic. He could thus have avoided the dizzying spiral shots inside the mountain, the needless designs of complex dwarvish machinery, and the obnoxious special effects of piles of gold coins being tossed about. This also would have simplified the unwelcome plot devices while maintaining (even increasing) the dramatic intensity. Just saying.

That said, the film's ending is fine. Jackson pulls a nice "Smaug the Golden" thing by taking Tolkien's title and making it literal. This translation is infinitely better than Jackson's irritating misinterpretation of Sauron's "Red Eye", but that's a conversation for another time. Splitting up the dwarves was a good idea, methinks, as it promises emotional urgency for the opening of The Battle of the Five Armies (2014); Bard's imprisonment and the orc attack on Lake Town similarly seem brilliant additions to the tale. Leaving everything hanging is a gamble on Jackson's part, and somewhat forced, but I think it works. We'll just have to wait to see if it pays off this December.

IMDb: The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug

Post-script: Though my reactions to the camerawork and weird editing remain steadfast, the Extended Edition of this film definitely improved my opinion of the picture. And each time I watch it, I like it more. We desperately needed more of Beorn on screen -- partly because he just wasn't shown enough in the theatrical release as a character, partly because we know he'll return in the final film -- and we got it. Hopefully he'll earn his place as a truly awesome character before the Battle of the Five Armies is over, but we'll have to wait and see. The scene of Gandalf introducing the dwarves to him (a fan favorite) not only adds Beorn moments, but allows Ian McKellen some room for acting.

The enchanted stream and white stag in Mirkwood made me happy because the scene made Mirkwood a greater character and threat. The theatrical release skipped right through Mirkwood up to the spiders, making the psychedelic weirdness of the forest only a funky anecdote; here, we see the more specific and shocking realities of Mirkwood's malice. Where The Lord of the Rings relished in its profundity and enigma, The Hobbit seems to want to explain -- or, as I like to say, show and tell -- the subtleties of Middle-earth. The white stag adds a level of mystery to the film that has been missing in the series, but then it also ties Thranduil's elk-motif in with the fauna of Mirkwood.

The (several) added scenes with Thrain are just fabulous. His presence makes Thorin a more interesting character by association for a couple of reasons: His declared title of King Under the Mountain makes more sense to us the more we see his paternal connections (Thror in the previous film, Thrain in this one), and the madness that supposedly runs in his family (brought on by their dwarf-ring) feels less contrived when we see the extent to which it affects his father. The scenes in Dol Guldur add to Gandalf's adventure because Thrain's attack is so unexpected and vicious, and because the implications of Thrain's presence make Dol Guldur more horrifying. Jackson's early days as a horror filmmaker make these sequences shine, much like in Shelob's Lair in Return of the King. I am surprised, I must say, that the theatrical relsease used some of the same footage of Gandalf with Thrain, but simply cut Thrain out. It kind of blows my mind that that would work logistically, but it does.

Boyhood (2014)

Score: 4.5 / 5

I confess, I was not terribly excited about this movie. All I heard about it was "12 years in the making", "a lifetime effort", blah blah. It sounded like just another all-concept-no-content desperate grab for awards. Add a cast that's relatively unknown and a running time of almost three hours, and this promised to be a daunting prospect, even with the solid direction of Richard Linklater (of Before Sunrise/Sunset/Midnight fame). But I was hearing enough good things that I felt I would be remiss to ignore it. And I was right.

The concept is, of course, genius. Following a young man's (Ellar Coltrane) life from age 5 to 18, the film shows us the many sides of life as the boy literally grows before our eyes. In an odd, meta fashion, the film is wildly personal and nostalgic because of the many pop culture references since the millennium. We see the kids reading Harry Potter, getting cell phones and laptops, watching Lady Gaga's music videos, and putting up Obama/Biden campaign signs. I smiled, laughed, and shed not a few tears as I saw my own childhood pass before my eyes. As a dear friend of mine said, this is truly a once-in-a-lifetime movie. It is also one that breaks a lot of ground; hopefully that ground will not be mined too much in the future, because the concept is also once-in-a-lifetime. Anything filmed like this in the future will feel too contrived or too desperate. But as it is, this film is fresh, relaxed, haunting, and beautiful.

Coltrane proves himself to be a young superstar, carrying the massive weight of the film on his young shoulders. Patricia Arquette, unfortunately not nearly as known as she should be, similarly masters what I expect to be a Big Break performance; her powerhouse emotional presence in the film is breathtaking. And Ethan Hawke (of whom I have never been a big fan) plays the father with such raw affection and uncharacteristic subtlety that I forgot it was him after a while. This triumvirate of connected, generous, and inspired actors blows me away: how they managed to maintain their obvious comfort and affection for each other and create honest, consistent fictional characters over twelve years, while working on countless other projects, amazes me to no end.

But beyond the concept -- and execution thereof, including pop references for temporal orientation and brilliant characterizations -- the film is profoundly eternal. In what we might call a dysfunctional family, we find shockingly honest emotions and relationships. With a title of Boyhood, I expected rather a lot, and this film delivered. But it carefully and skillfully avoids making any Big Statements about masculinity or manhood or anything like that; while we could certainly interpret a lot of those "lessons" from the picture, the film only really attempts to present an accurate and nonjudgmental snapshot of reality in a specific spectrum of life. Its portrayals are almost immaculately balanced and sensitive; we have both women and men who are, in turns, sympathetic or not, successful or not, loving or not, and everything in-between. Though the titular focus is on a white, middle-class, heteronormative, young man who fits a lot of the stereotypes associated with all those labels, his characterization plays with every expectation of those traits. He plays video games, fights his mother, wants to know his father better, and embodies his privilege in almost every scene; he is also an artist, an independent thinker, a caring and attentive boy who wants to be true to himself and avoid dangerous conformity.

This movie is not a sitcom, and it avoids any type of soap. Linklater (also the writer) instead finds Truth and bravely depicts the proceedings with compassion and understanding, without stooping for sentimentality. The film is both transcendent and real, in all its finely-tuned detail. Boyhood truly changed my life, and that is not a phrase I toss around casually (I think the last experience I had like it was seeing The Phantom of the Opera on Broadway). The ending beautifully wraps up the film in a pseudo-moral moment about how complicated and wonderful life is, in all of the moments that seize us. I couldn't handle it, I was sobbing. Just watch it. Do yourself a handful of favors and go watch it. With a handful of tissues.

IMDb: Boyhood

Othello (1995)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Easily the steamiest film adaptation of Shakespeare's work -- and that of his steamiest play, no less -- Oliver Parker's Othello holds a place among my favorite Bard adaptations. The story concerns Iago (Shakespeare's most diabolical villain), ensign to the Venetian general Othello "the Moor", and architect of the latter's destruction. Deceiving Othello into believing that his new wife Desdemona cuckolds him, Iago's schemes result in chaos and death as he preys upon and exploits everyone around him.

Director Parker looks to this material with an eye for textures and colors. Turning what can easily become sultry and sentimental into a vivid, sensational tale, Parker actively pays attention to the sensual details of Cyprus island and its inhabitants. Elaborate, exotic costumes and heavily decorated sets furbish the material, and close-up camerawork bring the film's intimacy and textile tangibility into sharp focus. This kind of attention proves appropriate, because Parker turns this story of lust, love, deception, betrayal, and madness into a surprisingly virile and erotic film.

Around half of Shakespeare's language is cut from the script (adapted by Oliver Parker); though I could wish for more of it, Parker brilliantly and rightly understands that film is different from theatre, and that in the former showing can be better than telling. Rather than alienating audiences that may be unfamiliar with the Bard, Parker's film minimalizes the dialogue. Left with only the script's foundations and his impressions of Shakespeare's thematic interests, Parker adds a number of scenes to bolster to the film's atmosphere and aesthetic. These include sex scenes (or pseudo-sex scenes) between Othello and Desdemona and Iago and Emilia, among others, and Othello's visions of Desdemona making love to Cassio.

Laurence Fishburne plays a remarkable Othello. His erotic confidence and sexually hypnotic presence onscreen is intoxicating and effectively serves as a manifest representation of Parker's aesthetic interests. His epileptic fits, so difficult for actors to play realistically and sensitively, are successful, though his efforts in speaking the dialogue sometimes seem forced. Kenneth Branagh is the hero of the film, however, as he injects Iago with sparkling wit and haunting emotional weight. Some critics (and I) have said that his performance of Iago is homosexual, and though Iago is an unquestionably more-or-less-queer character, Branagh has stated that he never intended it to be homosexual but rather a platonic, loving affection. Either way, there is no questioning his fluid sexuality in this picture, nor the impact of his erotic energy on the entire film.

IMDb: Othello

Frozen (2013)

Score: 5 / 5

Disney's latest installment in a trend of rejuvenated fairytales is arguably its best. Besides the unprecedented public obsession with Frozen, the film is uncommonly good for an animated family picture. Fresh, endearing, inventive, and elegant, the film's most critically successful element is its profound wit.

Beginning with a fairly dark opening sequence, the film follows the lives of orphaned princesses Elsa and Anna. Elsa, endowed with magical powers over snow and ice (and the magical voice of Idina Menzel), is an adaptation of Hans Christian Anderson's Snow Queen. Kristen Bell voices her younger sister Anna who maneuvers the gauntlet of adolescent emotional ties. The coming of age narrative is (brilliantly) twofold, expertly written and paced for this film. A welcome and similarly well-written sidekick named Olaf is voiced by Josh Gad in delightful comedy. This character is infectious beyond its intelligent humor, however: Olaf's unbridled hope and optimistic outlook is totally unpolluted with contemporary cynicism or bitterness. Other vocal talents include the charming (but strangely unmusical) Jonathan Groff as Kristoff and (a personal favorite) Ciarán Hinds in the tiny role of the troll Grandpa.

Featuring beautiful animation, Frozen hearkens back to any number of Disney classics. Passing moments such as Anna's touring the town visually remind us of Beauty and the Beast (1991), the film's cultural attention feels akin to Brave (2012) or The Princess and the Frog (2009), and the thrilling final act almost matches Pocahontas (1995) or The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996) in emotional intensity. The Broadway-style music follows suit of the golden age of Disney musicals, but with a modern spin not unlike Tangled (2010). Since so many audiences seem hell-bent on comparing Tangled and Frozen, I thought we could critically compare their thematic implications, though my focus will be on the latter film.

CONFESSION: I like both Tangled and Frozen, but it's valuable to look critically at what we absorb and advocate, and especially what kinds of images and narratives we encourage children to observe. That's why, besides Tangled, my other chosen references in this post are more feminist- and queer-friendly than most Disney films. That said, let's go.

Princess Anna demonstrates courage, bravery, and intelligence in her quest for love. Though she rashly deems Prince Hans a suitable future husband (in Disney's most brazen assault on "love at first sight" to date), she eventually learns other forms of love with Kristoff and her sister Elsa. Her bravery stems from a sense of responsibility and family duty: She leaves her kingdom in capable hands to find her sister the Queen and return order to the land. Though men help her along her journey (Kristoff, Sven, Hans, and Olaf), she by no means relies upon them. Kristoff is arguably the male figure who helps her the most, and yet we know that Anna would have found a way to the top of the mountain without him; she had indeed already traveled a long way on her own.

Tangled's Rapunzel, on the other hand, demonstrates bravery that is rooted in impracticality, irresponsibility, and selfishness. She is a dreamer (and a particularly air-headed one at that), and she leaves safety and love for her mother to pursue a dream that is only an extension of her curiosity. Her resourcefulness only highlights her weaknesses; e.g., when Flynn shows up, she ties him to a chair (because, being a man, he is physically superior to her, right?), haphazardly questions him (and gives him more information than she receives), and strikes him with a frying pan (because, as a woman, she naturally only has cooking utensils at her disposal). Her fear of this man is changed slowly into something like love, though, and this asserts her as the submissive party in their relationship. Flynn is the protector, provider, guide, and love interest; she utterly needs him in order to follow her dream. How sweet, and how patriarchal. But the single element that most declares Rapunzel to be inferior is her objectified status. Being the typical (beautiful, white, skinny, artistic, wide-eyed optimist) damsel in distress who resides on an idealized platform (literally, her tower), Rapunzel is the objectified woman under the male gaze. This arrestingly obvious problem notwithstanding, the filmmakers decided to make the misogyny manifest in Rapunzel's similarly objectified hair: her long golden locks are lusted after by various characters, until she is relieved of them, and she is no longer "special". Holy symbolism.

Anna is not the only hero of Frozen. Her sister Elsa leads a psychologically tortured plotline of her own. In what is arguably Disney's most aggressively (albeit symbolically) queer narrative, Elsa is forced into hiding a secret that will damage her reputation, acceptance, and ability to advance in society. She has to "conceal, don't feel" her natural instincts, and must physically hide away from the public eye to avoid scrutiny; in passing, her greatest fear is that she may "make one wrong move and everyone will know." When she is revealed, she literally builds a life apart, and makes a fabulous turn as Arendelle's Snow Queen when she learns to accept and forgive herself.

The film overtly teaches lessons of acceptance and grace for people who are Different: the non-human Olaf overflows with affectionate joy, and even the trolls are the movie's "love experts". But the most original and beautiful lesson the film teaches is one of sacrificial love. By running away, Elsa sacrifices her ties to society and her sister in an effort to restore peace and normalcy to the kingdom. Anna then sacrifices her safety to bring her sister back. Most tellingly, the notion of "true love" in Disney films is usually held between monogamous, heterosexual, ethnically similar young couples, and is discovered and maintained selfishly: seeking pleasure or a means to an end (usually independence). And if you notice, "the act of true love" is almost always a kiss, an act bestowed and received for personal pleasure (no, a kiss does not count as sacrifice, no matter how you read it). But in Frozen, the "true love" is between sisters; while their sibling status is not a magical bond between them and they have to work at their love, their efforts prove fruitful. They become more than sisters, they become friends because they have to work at their relationship. Importantly, the "act of true love" is one of a very literal sacrifice: Anna dooms herself to icy death to save her sister. Greater love hath none than this.

IMDb: Frozen

What do you think? Have I mischaracterized Tangled, or Frozen for that matter? Did I miss important elements from any of the films mentioned in this post? Can you think of any comparable elements in other Disney films? Please share your thoughts below!

Remembering Robin Williams

Immediately following the tragedy of his death, fans and colleagues began reminiscing. In order to honor the man we all loved -- if distantly -- we think of what he gave us and how he changed us. Because he did just that: He changed us all. Whether by inspiring us with his passions, showing us a miraculously lighter side of life, or simply making us smile, Robin Williams showed his spark of divine fire in every venue, and at every opportunity. Not many other high-profile celebrities can say the same.

As we cherish his joyous and compassionate figure, we can also bring attention back to his work as an artist. We remember the wondrous characters that bubbled out of his incomparable imagination as well as those characters he deigned to occupy in films and television. Even brilliant characters that he didn't personally create were changed by him into images of profoundly human people, and people who taught us lessons themselves. In losing Robin, we've lost more than one man; but by his life, we were touched by so many.

Most of us are remembering the smiles and raucous laughter Robin Williams brought to us, and are turning to those performances for inspiration and comfort. But I would like us to also recollect his more somber performances. Not because drama is better or worse than comedy, but because, in his more subtle, realistic, and artful roles, Williams showed us his true depth as a performer and -- more importantly -- his immeasurable depth as a man. He understood the human condition in ways I can only hope to glimpse, and bared himself time and again to share compassion and sensitivity.

Below are my favorite performances by one of my favorite inspirations. It's a rather long list, but his accomplishments and masterpieces are far more numerous. Please put these (and any of his films) on your watch list, because they are all gems.

Without judgment, he could embody any character, even characters that the rest of us may condemn. He could humble himself so much that he could disappear into those characters, and make us forget that we were watching our beloved comedian. In fact, my favorite performance of his belongs to One Hour Photo (2002), a thriller drama in which he plays a lonely photo lab worker named Seymour Parrish. A disturbed man, he develops a one-sided relationship to a family that regularly purchases their photos from him, and grows increasingly obsessed with their domestic life. His performance is so riveting and chilling that it's easy to overlook just how subtly he injects moments of pure empathy into "Uncle Sy".

As John Keating in the drama Dead Poets Society (1989), Williams taught me that seeing things from a new perspective is as easy as standing on your desk. He was one of the first men to make me say, "That! That's what I want to do with my life!" I still don't know whether I meant perform or teach, but I have chased those dreams ever since. Every line he says in this film is a whole lesson in itself.

Walter Finch, Insomnia (2002). This movie still freaks me out, no matter how many times I watch it.

Garp, The World According to Garp (1982). Oh, the feels.

Daniel Hillard, Mrs. Doubtfire (1993). Also, this movie was basically the first comedy I fell in love with, so there's that. 

Sean Maguire, Good Will Hunting (1997). So beautiful. Pass the tissues, please. 

Peter Banning, Hook (1991). Bangarang! 

Parry, The Fisher King (1991). And the awkward penis jokes. Oh, and speaking of penis jokes... 

Armand Goldman, The Birdcage (1996). 

Dr. Sayer, Awakenings (1990). "What we do know is that, as the chemical window closed, another awakening took place: that the human spirit is more powerful than any drug, and that is what needs to be nourished, with work, play, friendship, family. These are the drugs that matter. This is what we'd forgotten: the simplest things."

Chris Nielsen, What Dreams May Come (1998). Again, every line he speaks is so beautiful and deep.

Alan Hakman, The Final Cut (2004). I only recently saw this one, and it's a worthy inclusion. If a little strange. 

And, finally, Genie from Aladdin (1992). Unless I'm much mistaken, Williams was one of the first high-profile celebrities to voice an animated character. Apparently Disney had so much trouble figuring out how to handle the situation that they had a major falling out with Williams for pay reasons, and that is why Williams did not voice the Genie in the sequel. He returned, however, for the third installment, after Disney apologized to him. Another fun fact: Williams improvised so much that the film could not be nominated for an Oscar for script. Not that that matters much, in retrospect!

Gone, but never forgotten. He will continue to inspire and cheer audiences forever. We love and miss you. Rest in peace, dear heart.

What is your favorite Robin Williams performance? Comment below, and share why it is your favorite, and maybe what it means to you. And if you want me to review one of the films in my list (or not on my list), suggest it!

Godzilla (2014)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Infinitely superior to Roland Emmerich's 1998 attempt, this Godzilla is a welcome reboot of the franchise. Hardcore Godzilla fans are particularly pleased with the titular monster's design, as he looks like a contemporary version of the original monster rather than a glorified dinosaur. And this one has fiery blue breath, so of course he's better. Gareth Edwards brilliantly directs this two-hour, big-budget sci-fi thriller like a drama or art film, drawing attention to atmosphere and character rather than spectacle.

The main story is familiar enough: humanity's aggressive scientific efforts have brought forth monsters, the otherwise unnamed MUTOs (Massive Unidentified Terrestrial Organisms), which feed off radioactive material. Godzilla rises from the ocean to eliminate this new threat and bring balance. The heart of the film, though, resides in its characters. The Brody family seems intertwined with these monsters, and suffers both tragedy and redemption through the horrors of their rampage.

Joe and Sandra Brody (Bryan Cranston, Juliette Binoche) work in a Japanese nuclear power plant until its destruction in 1999, following unusual seismic activity that causes a radiation leak and Sandra's death. In the present day, Joe enlists the help of his son Ford (the very hunky Aaron Taylor-Johnson) in returning to their old home -- now in quarantine -- to retrieve his old research on the true case of the seismic activity. When they are detained by soldiers working to cover up the secret workings inside the ruined plant, the first MUTO awakens and Joe is killed. Ford works with special task forces in tracking and observing the monsters, in an unspoken effort to fulfill or honor his father's work. The emotional core of this movie isn't Ford becoming a hero; it's his coming of age and learning to love his family again.

The film feels a lot like War of the Worlds (2005). Tonally and chromatically, it's gritty and dark and bleak, because when a disaster movie is centered on the human experience, the horrors of the proceedings come into focus. We aren't battered into submission by endless images of buildings crumbling and clouds of dust everywhere; instead, we follow the characters into the dust and see just about what they see. The big Cinematic Moments are reserved for the profoundly human images. In fact, my favorite scene was a shattering surprise to me: I'm talking about The Scene. The scene that seems to be highlighted in every promotional image of the movie, wherein soldiers skydive into the hellish San Francisco skyline, trailed by red smoke, in search of a warhead. It's a gamble of a mission, and the jump is in many ways the central metaphor for the movie. I had wondered why this scene was getting so much promo attention, and now I get it. In context, it is the emotional turning point of the film, and the camerawork/editing is particularly beautiful. You'll just have to watch it to understand.

And watch it you should! Haunting and thrilling, dramatic and beautiful, I hope this one does well for Oscar nominations (though it's far too early to predict with any certainty, we can hope it'll get nods for visual effects, sound mixing and editing, and maybe even cinematography and score). Oh, I almost forgot: the lovely score, composed by the incredible Alexandre Desplat, can be added to his already lengthy list of masterpieces. He's one of the best. I've said it before and I'll say it again, but this year we've seen a lot of special effects-driven movies. Godzilla may be one of them, but it's got real craft too.

IMDb: Godzilla

Noah (2014)

Score: 3 / 5

If you thought Darren Aronofsky -- the master director of such subtle films as Black Swan (2010), The Wrestler (2008), The Fountain (2006), and Requiem for a Dream (2000) -- was in over his head with the biblical story of Noah, you weren't alone. From the first trailer, we could tell this movie was going to be heavy with special effects and struggling for an emotional center. But with a stellar director and a dream cast, along with one of the most complicated and brief stories from the book of Genesis, my hopes remained high.

A very straightforward plot makes this film feel like an epic. But with its very small cast of characters, however, it goes from being Ben-Hur (1959) or The Ten Commandments (1956) to a family drama amidst an apocalypse. Tonally, it feels almost like a continuation of the Oedipus story, where the patriarch receives special warning from an absent deity and is forced to sacrifice the global population to save his family. That doesn't exactly sound like the story we heard in Sunday school, does it? That's because Aronofsky bravely opens the story into a realistic realm of darkness that expands glossed-over moments in the biblical account.

Unfortunately, however, for a film that covers relatively new cinematic ground, the film feels recycled. It's a typical action-adventure, a combination of Gladiator (2000) and 2012 (2009), with a dash of The Hobbit (2012) tossed in. Noah (played by Russell Crowe) becomes a heroic warrior of sorts, informed by his (very, very) old mentor Methuselah (Anthony Hopkins), who leads his family through hell on earth. His efforts, however, are dangerously hypermasculine, ultimately alienating his son and threatening to sacrifice an infant girl for his interpretation of God's will. His rival, Tubal-Cain (Ray Winstone), leads the supposedly sinful men of earth in vague opposition to Noah and in battle to take the Ark for themselves. And just in case you didn't know, they fail, and Noah's family survives to repopulate the now-empty earth. Yay.

The only fully fleshed-out character is Noah, a surprisingly psychological protagonist. His struggle through what he thinks is God's orders is quite gripping, and Crowe handles it with strength and compassion. A fairly unlikeable character, he elicits a little sympathy from us as he wrestles with the possibility that he is imagining the approaching catastrophe. Later, after he sees the destruction and carnage of the flooded world, we suspect that he has lost his senses entirely. Jennifer Connelly, Douglas Booth, Logan Lerman, and Emma Watson play his family, and their performances are solid if rather inconsequential. Watson's role is larger than the others and she rises to its challenge admirably, especially in the film's third act.

The film's special effects are undeniably dazzling, and the animals are a marvel to watch, if only briefly. A strong theme of environmentalism carries through the film, which is an unexpected but welcome addition to the tale, and surprisingly appropriate. A lot of controversy has arisen around the film, mostly (as we expected) from biblical literalists, who oppose the darker elements and potential madness of Noah's character. Other changes from the source material also cause indignation, including Noah's sons' harried search for wives to take on the Ark, as well as the surprisingly pagan motif of nature-worship. The opening sequence is a montage of combined creation and evolution, a seed from the Garden of Eden springs forth a massive forest to provide wood for the Ark, and an obscure mystical element draws animals to the Ark before they are put to sleep by drugged incense.

Perhaps the one element I find most ambiguous is that of the Watchers. These "fallen angels" are disenfranchised from God because they wanted to help humans in the post-Eden world. While this is not necessarily biblical, it is an interesting twist on the brief mention of the "sons of God" and the Nephilim of Genesis. But these beasts appear as golems, large stone sentinels that help Noah's family build the Ark. They sacrifice themselves while fighting Tubal-Cain's assault (a la Saruman's forces in The Two Towers (2002)) and as a reward are allowed to return to heaven. So...the "fallen angels" are actually sacrificial spirits that help humans in their plight against nature? What kind of God would kick them out of heaven? Aronofsky, you clever bastard, you'll have us talking yet.

But the most problematic element of the film is its whitewashed cast. While its mythic plot arguably makes ethnicity irrelevant, the film hearkens back to the 1950s biblical epics of White Men doing White Judeo-Christian things in order to save the White populace. I would hope that filmmakers would cast actors purely by virtue of their acting skills, but there is something to be said when a film that supposedly takes place in a part of the world where (and at a time when) Caucasians weren't really a thing, and casts no one of any shade of color. This is a world where only white people can be saved by other white people (specifically Judeo-Christian men), and that doesn't sound like the world my God created.

Drowning in special effects and flooded with spectacle, this watery wannabe-epic fittingly ushered in a season of over-the-top summer blockbusters. It feels like the apocalyptic, Christian version of Clash of the Titans (2010) in both tone and cinematic style. Not a great film to be compared with. I can't blame any one factor, but for all its great conversation-starting turns, Noah is just not particularly memorable.

IMDb: Noah

Oculus (2013)

Score: 5 / 5

The most unexpected horror film in recent memory is also one of the best. Its premise is so aggressively novel that I didn't even understand the trailer, rather like a lot of people, and so I wasn't expecting much. But this picture is so fresh and so hauntingly elegant that you'll not soon forget it. Remarkably complicated and satisfyingly scary, this movie also features strong acting and excellent camerawork.

Karen Gillan (of Doctor Who fame) plays opposite Brenton Thwaites (Maleficent (2014), The Giver (2014)) as siblings, working through a purgatory of shifting memories and illusion. Kaylie and Tim, respectively, have reunited eleven years after the death of their parents. Tim has spent that time in a psychiatric hospital, undergoing therapy that convinced him that his parents' deaths were not the result of supernatural phenomena; Kaylie has spent the years tracking down that same phenomena to exact revenge. The crux of the film, then, is a large, ornate mirror that apparently hypnotizes its victims and induces hallucinations.

Director/writer Mike Flanagan brilliantly delves deep into the world of this mirror in a truly brilliant artistic move: almost half the scenes of the film are hallucinations in themselves. What the audience sees is not often different from what the characters are seeing, so we are very much in the moment with our heroes, suffering the same illusions. That's not really giving anything away, so don't worry that I've spoiled some big secret. The horror of the film is profoundly psychological, but it isn't the (familiar in horror films) psychology of serial killers or demonic activity; this disturbing material is primarily effective because of its unsettling presentation by Flanagan. The almost unbearable tension is held just under the surface, in what we are afraid to see and what reality is hidden by the illusions. Ultimately, we are not even sure what is illusion and what is delusion, which is far more horrifying.

One central way in which Flanagan sets up this netherworld of nightmares is by designing a parallel plot: we see the present-day story of Kaylie and Tim plotting revenge on the mirror simultaneously with the descent of their parents into murderous madness, eleven years previously. Katee Sackhoff and Rory Cochrane play the parents, and their performances are brave ventures into chilling territory. The editing phase of the film must have been torturous, but the product is superbly cut together, with deliberately off-beat emotional pacing and a plodding progression through an almost academic study in dread.

While most of the film is wildly unpredictable, the ending is a little obvious. But it also takes an emotional turn that had me fighting back tears, which I certainly did not expect. Satisfying and haunting, the ending also leaves a door wide open for any possible sequels, hopefully only attempted by the same filmmakers. Continuations of this story could go off the rails quickly, if in the wrong hands. Of course, this one has plenty of sudden scares and a few gory shocks, but the heart of this movie is in its focus on appearances and reflections. Pay attention to what you see, even if it's not real, because the craftsmanship here is uncommonly good.

Oh, and good luck sleeping afterwards.

IMDb: Oculus

A Most Wanted Man (2014)

Score: 4.5 / 5

The most recent adaptation of a John le Carré (author of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy) novel brings a coldly subtle edge to this summer of special-effects-heavy action blockbusters. A Most Wanted Man follows Gunther Bachmann, a disheveled German intelligence officer with a past of failures. He leads an anti-terrorism cell that keeps its eyes on the Islamic population of Hamburg, where the 9/11 attacks were planned. But in the shady world of terrorism and intelligence nothing is ever black-and-white, much as we might hope, and the cost of betrayal is severe.

Philip Seymour Hoffman is electric in his role. His every moment on screen is magnetic due to the incredible subtlety with which he injects Bachmann, beyond his impeccably gravelly German-accented English. Under his brusque, chain-smoking exterior, his idealistic optimism shines through, and proves to be a trait that leads to a personal tragedy. He's seen it all before, and he leads his comrades through a murky world of shady backroom deals and espionage with an air of confident control. And yet his real shining moments occur when he shows that Bachmann isn't just doing his job; he's living a life devoted to the greater good, and to that end he develops personal relationships with his compatriots, whether they be Muslim or American. His warmth as a paternal figure is intoxicating, partly because it is so unexpected.

The supporting cast is no less impressive in creating a taut network of shaky alliances. Rachel McAdams, Daniel Bruhl, Robin Wright, and Williem Dafoe perform with determination and understated intensity that match Hoffman's lead. Wright's aggressive meddling as a CIA agent is sure to rub some of us the wrong way, but it certainly hints at the extent to which Americans will go for "results", regardless of the collateral; McAdams's sweet humanitarian legal efforts, however, prove no less double-edged as she realizes she may be unwittingly helping terrorists. These women play hard roles that straddle extremes of morality, and are accompanied by Dafoe's portrayal of a wealthy banker who makes deals with dangerous clients, uncertain of the consequences.

Directed by Anton Corbijn (director of The American (2010), Control (2007)), this two-hour descent into surprisingly emotional ties is easily the most cerebral film we've seen this summer. From its opening shot of the murky waters of the River Elbe, the film maintains a gray-scale theme of moral ambiguity and tense alliances. Bachmann maneuvers the various players -- especially a respected Muslim lecturer and philanthropist, Dr. Faisal Abdullah, who has publicly denounced terrorism but remains suspicious to intelligence officers -- into helping him whether they really want to or not. The crux of his plans is ex-convict Issa Karpov, who may be a criminal or victim, but who is trying to forge a new life.

As you may be able to tell, no character in this convoluted tale is completely sympathetic, partly because they don't always sympathize with themselves; they dubiously gain trust before casually betraying each other, and their intentions are often undermined by harsh realities. Hoffman's finale (truly, as it is his last finished film) is one of his most memorable, screaming in frustration on the streets before simply walking out of the frame. The tragedy of his character is compounded for audiences, as he was also walking out of our lives forever. We miss you, PSH, but thank you for leaving us one last masterpiece. Rest in peace.

IMDb: A Most Wanted Man

The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey (2012)

Score: 5 / 5

In preparation for the upcoming final installment of the franchise, I thought we'd take a step back and review the previous two Hobbit films. I am an avid fan of Tolkien, and of Peter Jackson's films, but I won't be comparing the two because comparing film to literature is silly. This review will focus on the first film, and consider it in context of Jackson's other Tolkien adaptations.

Peter Jackson's return to Middle-earth in 2012, almost a decade after The Lord of the Rings, is a surprisingly graceful and beautiful transition. I say transition because this new series is an adaptation of a children's fantasy adventure, and so carries a much different tone than the previous trilogy. Jackson manages the somewhat simple story with elegance and intelligence, encouraging a new audience to look closely at his 48 fps (frames per second; this is twice as fast as the usual film speed) to see the fantastic computer-generated effects in stunning high definition. The action is crisp and clear, almost as if it was really happening inside the screen at that moment. Howard Shore's score is perhaps the one element that most connects Hobbit to LotR, and it is especially noteworthy here.

The screenplay, however, is not dumbed-down into simple or childish fantasy. Jackson, Fran Walsh, and Philippa Boyens have again expertly organized the story into brilliant beats of emotion and excitement, and the dialogue is comical and charming. And yet, for its lighthearted joy, it provides a great framework for emotional weight that will surely be added in the later installments. We sense again profoundly human pathos -- in a world where humans only make up a fraction of the population -- in hauntingly intimate moments like Bilbo's final encounter with Gollum.

The acting is, of course, stellar. The cast creates a flawless ensemble that plays off each other surprisingly well. The thirteen dwarves, perhaps the trickiest roles to play due to their inconsequential ambiguity, are all so specifically detailed and provide such intensely unique performances that by the end of the film, I could identify each by name. Perhaps a little bit more of an introduction to each would have helped the process, but it honestly matters very little in this film. The main one to remember, though, makes sure that you do: Richard Armitage performs the dwarf leader Thorin with power and genius, turning a completely unlikeable character into, arguably, the most important in the story. Martin Freeman (a choice I was originally not thrilled with) proves a solid Bilbo and an unlikely focal point of the film; his choices are inspired. Ian McKellen returns to his Oscar-nominated role as Gandalf and injects it with such strength and energy that he steals the film right away from the ensemble.

The rest of the ensemble are no less impressive than its triumvirate of leads. Sylvester McCoy is McKellen's only rival for thievery, however, in his turn as Radagast, the eccentric wizard of wilderness. His crazed demeanor and frenzied presence on screen is delightful, and proves (beyond the character work of the dwarves) that the filmmakers' creativity has only grown in the years since LotR. Lee Pace pops in at the beginning as the ethereal Elf-King Thranduil, and Barry Humphries' outrageously musical Great Goblin has now become my favorite character in the film.

The scene with the White Council is one of the film's two best. Featuring McKellen, Cate Blanchett, Hugo Weaving, and Christopher Lee (all of whom reprise their roles from LotR) sharing salty banter and Important Thoughts, the scene's actors play perfectly off each other's timing and strengths. This is a brief but memorable actors' workshop, and it provides the film's most dense, heightened dialogue, so pay attention. The best scene of the film, however, goes to the Riddle Game between Bilbo and Gollum (Andy Serkis). Their timing, energy, and ingenuity in performing hilarious and beautiful dialogue is impeccable, and increased by the fact that they are forced to react to each other in a rather small physical area. The scene is a masterclass in filmmaking. Bravo.

Now for the criticisms. The sequence with the stone giants is just annoying. We know you have cool special effects, Jackson, and we know you like to exaggerate brief comments in the source material (remember the staircase in Moria in Fellowship of the Ring? Yeah, Tolkien just said the Fellowship ran down some stairs, and Jackson turned it into a crazy theme park ride), but this is overkill. The effects aren't even as good as others in the film, and the sudden, brief danger only muddies the plot and pacing. Another element that bothers me a bit in the film is that Nori, one of the dwarves, is characterized as a pickpocket. So why do they need a burglar so desperately? It's problematic, and a bit superfluous.

Also, the Ringwraiths. I won't delve too deeply into the problems with this element in Tolkien's text, but the Ringwraiths aren't dead, so how can they be buried and return as spirits? Answer: they can't. Jackson himself portrayed them as very much Un-dead in LotR. "No living man can kill me," the Witch-king says; besides, Jackson showed us what truly dead people look like in Return of the King. They're green, ugly, and #bitter. Jackson either misinterpreted or purposefully wants to go a different direction (presumably to give credence to the Necromancer's title), but he's still inconsistent with his earlier characterization. But if those are my only complaints, I can't deny that this is one damn good movie.

Jackson's ending is the franchise's best yet, followed closely by the ending of The Two Towers. Devastating, inspiring, touching, and spectacular. Moving from a photogenic sunset into a fiery cliffside dusk, and a dawn of breathtaking splendor, the sequence is perfectly paced and promises great things for the next two films. Beautiful.

IMDb: The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey

Post-script: The Extended Edition adds a few lovely touches here and there, but by no means alters the film as much as the LotR extended versions. The dwarves sing a fun, familiar (to Tolkien readers) song in Rivendell, and the Great Goblin sings some more, but mostly the additions are little extended shots here and there in Hobbiton and Rivendell. The White Council's scene is extended a fair amount, though, and the dialogue waxes informative on Thorin's mad family and the state of the Rings of Power. Again, not too "important" for this film, but important for what will come.

Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)

Score: 4 / 5

I usually react badly when people try to argue that films are "simply" escapist ventures. Firstly, there's nothing really wrong with escapism, though I think a tendency for it leads to bad art. Secondly, there's nothing simple about filmmaking. Or film viewing, for that matter. And a desire to escape from reality into a world that becomes real to many viewers is a very complicated process. But as I watched smiling audience members walk out after Marvel's newest blockbuster Guardians of the Galaxy, the first word that crossed my mind was "escapism". And I was smiling too.

Due, no doubt, to any number of circumstances, superhero movies seem to have been getting darker and heavier over the last few years. Blame Christopher Nolan, postmodern nihilism, or the degradation of American youth, but it's no coincidence that superhero films seem to be growing more tragic in nature. Besides the subject matter that always includes the extinction of humans or the dissolution of Earth, just look at the color palette for Thor and compare it to its sequel. Or Captain America. And consider the titles of these sequels: The Dark World, The Winter Soldier. They grow bleak, because for some reason each installment must be a bigger, "better" challenge to overcome, and one that invariably makes a lot of rubble.

So Guardians proved quite the surprise for me. I usually prefer the darker-toned films of the last few years to comedies, but frankly I've been getting tired of them. The sheer optimism and glee in this film had me smiling through the whole damn thing. And lots of that comes from the director, James Gunn, who handles the (no less threatening than in other Marvel films) presence of multiple scheming, destructive villains with grace and style. While he eventually gives in to weak battle sequences typical of superhero finales, he also has an eye for lovely visuals. And I'm not talking about colossal buildings falling down, nauseating battles in aircraft, or legions of alien armies hammering it out; these elements are in the film but are hardly the photographic focus. The camera views the proceedings with a particularly human eye (with a few spectacle-oriented moments of exception, of course), carefully focusing attention on the cast of characters. Granted, there are so many characters that it is a bit tricky to keep them all straight, but eventually I got the hang of it.

For an ensemble superhero film with almost too many special effects, the real joy here is the acting. While I have never read these comics and so didn't know any of these characters previously, the screenwriters and actors obviously worked together to create strong, sympathetic characters that are both touching and funny. Chris Pratt proves quite capable of heavyweight protagonist flair, and with a sizzling heroic body to boot (which he has sported before, people, in Zero Dark Thirty. Stop acting like this is a new thing). Zoe Saldana peers through her greenface with her usual zest, and even Bradley Cooper and Vin Diesel shine in their moments, though their faces never show at all. My favorite moments, however, belong to Benicio Del Toro, who briefly shows his fabulous side in a turn as the Collector. While I worship Glenn Close, who plays Nova Prime, I don't entirely know why she was in the film; her role is so brief and unnecessary to the plot that she feels a little wasted, and for that matter, so does John C. Reilly. But I'll stop complaining because Close needs to be on screen more, period.

Amidst the sparkling energy and great comedic timing, we have a lot of empty visuals and tons of action without much accompanying drama. That seems to be the direction a lot of recent action films are headed, and that's why I usually prefer the darker stuff: the action has accompanying emotional weight and purpose, if sometimes a bit too much. But Guardians provides a truly giddy release from that, and it is Welcome, not least because its characters are assembled in a refreshingly queer narrative of appreciating and valuing individual difference. There isn't really the level of proud indulgence or selfish sacrifice that we find in too many other action-film heroes. Hopefully future Marvel installments can retain this sincere optimism while also providing just a little more emotional connection.


IMDb: Guardians of the Galaxy