Shazam (2019)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Gomer Pyle might have made it sound extra silly, but "Shuz-ayum" is what everyone was saying as we left the cinema.

Knowing nothing about the superhero before we went in, I was blown away by the sheer fun of Shazam!, the latest entry in the DC movie universe. It's the sort of simple-minded joy we felt way back when the first X-Men or Spider-Man movies hit the mainstream and started the modern age of comic book blockbusters. Unlike those entries, however, this one is pure joy and silliness, a seamless blend of humor and heart that never lets its surprisingly dark elements weigh down the film.

In the city of brotherly love, young orphan Billy Batson gets placed into a group home that already includes five foster kids whom he does not immediately love. After delivering his new brother from bullies, however, Billy is magically transported to the lair of an ancient wizard. The wizard's name is -- yes -- Shazam, and it has been his sacred duty to keep the Seven Deadly Sins incarcerated while searching for a suitable champion to take his place. Billy has proven that his heart is pure, and so by speaking the name Shazam, Billy is transformed into a superhero, imbued with the wizard's magic.

Weird? Hell yes. But also a fabulous way to showcase the purity and passions of a child-as-superhero, as well as the talents (and body) of Zachery Levi as the adult hero. The character's endearing mix of innocence, cockiness, and elation are infectious; Levi's effortless comic delivery and ballsy presence on screen are entrancing. More impressively, though, the rest of the cast, half of whom are children! They play off each other like veteran actors, carrying the weight of the film with their antics and sweet sibling affection. And while their antagonist, played by a sleek and severe Mark Strong, isn't quite terrifying, the embodiments of the Sins certainly are. Their final showdown in the fairground is one of the most delightful climaxes of any superhero movie ever.

The result of all this stuff: a joyful romp that holds no pretense. In a franchise so drenched in style and seriousness that it often fails to win fans' support or even respect -- I have certainly enjoyed all the DC films, but they've become very cool to hate on -- this movie manages to thwart expectations and deliver a sassy, irreverent, and completely heartwarming vision of inclusivity, bravery, and a chosen family.

Penguins (2019)

Score: 3 / 5

There's really not a better feel-good lazy afternoon viewing experience, for me, than a solid nature documentary. And Disneynature has some really fabulous ones on their list. Gorgeous cinematography captured in dramatic fashion, often of exotic and extreme places and beasts, are the purest form of cinema. Moving images that speak for themselves.

Except, more and more often in these Earth Day Disneynature releases, the images do not speak for themselves. Rather, they tend to rely increasingly on narrators to tell their stories and dramatize the events portrayed. This worked flawlessly in the series' first installments, as narrators such as Samuel L. Jackson and Meryl Streep spoke in an omniscient and often poetic voice. With later installments, though, narrators such as Tim Allen and John C. Reilly tended to anthropomorphize their subjects, speaking often in the voice of the animals seen on screen, cheapening the effect of nature's awesome power, and trivializing whatever scientific or environmentalist insights might have otherwise been gleaned.

Penguins, unfortunately, falls deeply into the latter category. Ed Helms, though he often made me chuckle, quickly becomes more distracting than enjoyable. He effectively strips the genuine comedy and intrigue of the story -- here centering on a newly matured male Adelie penguin named Steve -- by his inability to refrain from puke jokes and awkward stream of consciousness. The penguins are cute and awkward enough; surely the cinematography and score could have carried the film without relying on his blathering.

Further, while the visuals are typically stunning, it is occasionally hard to swallow that we've seen most of this before. I'd argue that the 2005 March of the Penguins was really the only documentary about penguins in Antarctica that we ever needed. At least they could have made some valuable and timely statements about climate change and the polar icecaps melting, but even these are glaringly omitted. But, then again, can anyone truly be upset to see more penguins on the big screen? This is a rare case of a film that I'd rather watch than not, but would prefer to mute the sound to avoid the irritating narration.

The Man Who Killed Don Quixote (2019)

Score: 4.5 / 5

In yet another amazing -- and amazingly weird -- cinematic exercise, Terry Gilliam may not win any new fans but will certainly satisfy old ones. Then again, I liked his latest film so much that I feel the need to revisit some older ones to see if I didn't judge him too harshly.

The Man Who Killed Don Quixote directly refers to Toby, a director of commercials and an artistic failure. Played by Adam Driver, Toby struggles with a commercial set in Spain starring the characters of Don Quixote and Sancho. Leaving the shoot, Toby meets a Gypsy who sells him an old DVD to provide inspiration; the film, The Man Who Killed Don Quixote, was Toby's own student project a decade prior. Reminded of that film -- and the artistic promise it held for him -- he goes to the nearby town where it was shot. There he finds the man who played his original Don Quixote, played by what might be a career-best performance from Jonathan Pryce, who has become utterly convinced that he is, in fact, the literary icon.

It's a rollicking comedy-drama that quickly escalates into a fantasy adventure as Quixote enlists his Sancho (Toby) to join him on his run from the law. The two journey through time and space while characters from the past and from fiction come thrillingly to life. Absurdist in the best way, Gilliam keeps everything pretty grounded and plausible, if only as feverish daydreams. More importantly, the magnificent design of the film sensually draws you into its splendor so that by the climax, the gorgeous costumes craft an exquisite world of such realistic fantasy you feel swept away by the sheer spectacle.

It's hard to shake, though, the heart of the movie. Hidden between the varied comic bits are moments of pure emotion that make the film feel almost confessional. Gilliam's hands may be all over his own aesthetic, but so is his life, and this feels as close to a passion project as anything else he's done. It probably helps that he's had this movie in the works for almost three decades. Issues of identity, artistic integrity, alternate realities, sanity, love and passion, and of course the darkly comic realities of lives lived to the fullest swirl around here, as if Gilliam is asking himself to review his own work and suggest what comes next.

Is it his masterpiece? That depends on your taste. I think the case is there, and while it may not hold up to the intellectual fascination of 12 Monkeys or Brazil, I'd argue that it might be his most accessible, most grounded, and most emotionally innocent and joyful film in years. "You crazy peasant. You think you can hide from me? We shall have such great adventures together." Indeed.

Pet Sematary (2019)

Score: 3.5 / 5

There's an interesting duality in approaches to the newest wave of Stephen King adaptations. There's the slow-burn, densely atmospheric and psychological horror of Castle Rock and Gerald's Game, and then there's the kinetic, frenzied, and fabulously scary horror of IT and the latest version of Pet Sematary. Both work well in their own ways, and pay homage to different aspects of King's aesthetic.

Here, much of the story is the same as the original 1989 film with a few minor twists. I must confess to not yet having read the novel; from what I know of it, though, and much like King's work in general, it can be read in many ways from pure horror to sociohistorical dark satire to deep psychoanalytic exploration. This film -- much like the recent adaptation of a certain evil clown's story -- doesn't really present us with a specific "purpose" wherein it might inhabit one of these approaches. Rather it simply presents a solid scary horror movie, one that disturbs as it surprises.

After moving from Boston to the northernmost fringes of rural Maine, Dr. Louis Creed and his wife Rachel settle into their new homestead with their two children Ellie and Gage. Even their cat Church seems to enjoy the new digs; until, that is, he is crunched by a vehicle on the road, down which semi-trucks tend to drive recklessly. Without telling his impressionable daughter, Louis goes off to bury the beast in a rustic pet cemetary down in the woods nearby. His neighbor and new friend Jud joins him, and suddenly leads Louis much farther into the woods, through a swamp and to a rocky outcropping, where he instructs Louis to bury Church.

As you might imagine, we quickly learn that this is an old Native American burial ground, and things interred here tend to come back from the dead. First, Church returns, though his temperament is notably more hostile than before. Then, when tragedy strikes again on that same road, Louis buries his beloved daughter (not his toddler son, as in the previous film) in the hopes that she'll come back fresher (weird, but accurate) and more like herself. His hopes blind him to her deterioration, and as her sadistic bloodthirst intensifies, Louis must decide the cost he's willing to pay for family.

It's all rich material, and this film rolls with all its punches, delivering highly effective, quick-paced thrills designed to make you jump. In an era of high-class horror that often completely denies its audience of this reaction, it's fun to have a well-crafted roller coaster ride of genuine scares. Moments are twisted into more gruesome scenarios: the undead Ellie cuddled up with her father in bed, Rachel's memories of her deceased sister coming back to haunt her, and of course the nature of evil in the woods.

To this last point, I found it fascinating that this film suggests a greater mythology than the original picture. In that, the Micmac tribe abandoned their burial grounds when the earth turned bad (whatever that means). In this, though, an unnamed tribe abandoned their hallowed land when a Wendigo appeared. Of course this seems to make a bit more sense given the geographical location and themes of shapeshifting and cannibalism. But whereas the first film featured Gage cannibalizing his victims, Ellie does no such thing here; instead, she takes the guise of Jud's deceased wife at one point.

Logic seems misplaced here. Why incorporate (or introduce, if it's not in the novel) the Wendigo as a terrifying icon of evil and then not fulfill it? It could have appeared during the climax, a la the demon monster thing at the end of the Evil Dead remake. It could have even appeared in passing in the swamp or in the shadows of the woods, more so than a possible brief phantasm in the fog. Instead, the film could have taken a leaf from the original and simply omitted this, exploring in depth the psychological torments of the cost of life and what we weigh in its balance.

Really, though, I only really got upset during the final ten minutes or so, when the film completely derails. Ellie kills Rachel, knocks out Louis, then drags Rachel to the cemetary to bury her. Almost instantly (much sooner than the film's prior logic had dictated) Rachel returns and kills Louis. It seems they then bury Louis before -- again, almost instantly -- the trio return for poor toddler Gage. Since when do the undead in Pet Sematary seek to increase their number? And why would Ellie not kill Louis and Rachel at the same time when she has a much better opportunity? Then add the wishy-washy cover of the title song, and it's all a big letdown from what otherwise was a solid scary movie.

Dumbo (2019)

Score: 3.5 / 5

It's a weird story, this time helmed by a weird director, but it somehow manages to work much more smoothly and -- dare I say it? -- beautifully than expected. From what I know of the original Disney animated film (which, admittedly, is not much as I've never seen it), this film at once remakes and expands. The first half of this new version is the remake, the second half is where Tim Burton and writer Ehren Kruger imagine a new, updated, and much more interesting story.

Essentially, Dumbo is born in circus captivity (thankfully, this time, not delivered by storks) and deemed useless as a result of his deformity: unusually large ears. It's hard to imagine so many people in the circus of freaks and in the general public who would laugh so cruelly at the adorable little guy, brought gorgeously to visual life here. But that's more a question of the story than of this film. When Dumbo's mother Jumbo is sold after attempting to protect her son, Dumbo learns with the help of his mousy little human friends (who take the place of his cartoon mouse companion) that he can fly. He uses his newfound ability to gain fame, new opportunities, and hope to find his mother again.

Leave it to Tim Burton to highlight the theme of odd uniqueness, of physical difference, and stretch it out ad nauseam. Dumbo's caretaker Holt, played by Colin Farrell, returns home after WWII with only one arm, reuniting with his two children in tearful remembrance of his wife and their mother who recently passed away. He soon discovers that he cannot perform, as the circus has sold his prized horse; he is instead given the job of tending to the new elephant -- apparently a demeaning task for the gentle and handsome man -- with the brutal other caretaker. His children are similarly odd, especially the older girl who wants to be a scientist. (ugh. Tim Burton isn't known for featuring diverse character tropes.)

Yes, it's all really weird, especially when Danny DeVito's ringmaster gets into full swing. Fortunately, though, he's not the villain of this film. After Dumbo's power of flight manifests, DeVito's circus is sold to Michael Keaton's all-but-mustache-twirling CEO of Dreamland, a sort of awkward parody of Disneyland that feels like a bizarre meta-commentary from a Disney movie about Disney. This is where things get really interesting. Issues of capitalism never really coalesce into an argument, but rather flavor the suddenly grayscape environment with trippy, decadent visuals. Keaton's character seems a blatant critique of Walt Disney, and I'm still not sure how, or why, or what it means.

Kind of like the film as a whole. It falls short of making any statements, or really even justifying its own existence. It's (thank heaven) not a hallucinatory Burton nightmarescape of clowns and magic; rather it's surprisingly, blissfully, grounded. While the people may not act quite normal and the excesses far from realistic, it allows you time to appreciate the subtle joys and sly critiques utterly absent from the (again, as I remember) more bombastic, fantastic, and kind of racist original. Then again, I wished more than once for more of an aesthetic purpose to this exercise, beyond seeing Colin Farrell getting all dewey-eyed, fawning over Eva Green.

While it doesn't rise to the magnificent events of more recent Disney remakes, it certainly works better than Cinderella, and we can all be grateful for that.

P.S. -- I found myself more than once wondering the rating of this film. PG! More than once, I wished for PG-13 or even R, just to see what Burton might do. Then again, I'm kind of glad he reigned it all in. But this flick is chock-full of Easter eggs, and some far dirtier than expected. You actually see the mermaid's nipple at one point, in the fabulous Disney tradition of sexual imagery. And, my favorite, when Dreamland comes crashing down, the sign loses its "D", reading "reamland" and suggesting that Keaton's capitalist character just got fucked.