Pinocchio (2022)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Easily the most beautiful adaptation of the classic story, this may also be the most original, which is saying something of a work adapted countless times in many languages and times and places. Pinocchio, originally published in 1883 in Italy, is currently conceived as a timeless tale in which a lonely man makes a wooden boy puppet or doll who comes to life and must learn what it means not only to be human but to grow up as one. Most widely popularized in the 1940 animated Disney musical, which was also remade in 2022 (I usually love the Disney live action remakes, but this one was middling at best), the story tends to embrace heavily moralized themes of honesty and integrity and sacrifice. The "point" of the story, apart from his nose, is Pinocchio's quest to become a "real boy."

Finally, an adaptation with less moralizing and more speculating comes to us, courtesy of Netflix, from the dark master of the fey and fantastic Guillermo del Toro. The film, which bears his name in the title due to his visionary approach, is remarkably -- and directly oppositional to Disney's two approaches -- entirely done practically. Del Toro's first stop-motion film is the kind of brilliant project that almost makes you wonder how it wasn't the first stop-motion animated film ever made, or at least something like it. For a story that not only questions reality and constantly crosses the boundaries between life and death, but that is indeed about all the animates and inanimates in between, stop-motion is probably the singularly perfect medium for storytelling. It's the ideal combination of material and form, one that emphasizes del Toro's own involvement like Geppetto's (the lonely old man and creator of the titular character) in that the human touch and eye literally creates every painstakingly realized frame of this film.

Interestingly, this Pinocchio also has its updates, and so while it adapts a lot of themes from the original fable, it also updates it slightly, heightening the stakes and increasing our curiosity as del Toro and his team move us forward a bit to the era of World War II. In this atmosphere, under the fraught shadow of Mussolini in power, Geppetto (voiced by David Bradley from Harry Potter and Game of Thrones) is driven to drunken depression after his son Carlo is killed in their idyllic town by a wayward bomb. A grieving Geppetto eventually carves his puppet replacement in a scene eerily reminiscent of Frankenstein, all narrated by a delightful Sebastian J. Cricket (an excellent Ewan McGregor). It's the kind of scene that we'd expect to see in a traditional Grimm-style fairytale, where wishes and death are much closer than they are in subsequent fantasies.

When a Wood Sprite (Tilda Swinton, of course) gifts the puppet with consciousness, we begin to see a familiar del Toro at work. He's not interested in Disney-fied versions of fairies, but rather of older, darker understandings of "monsters" and the otherworldly. The Wood Sprite seems more like a biblical angel than a cultural one; much later in the story, a Sphinx-like beast seems to lord over the realm of Death (also voiced by Swinton), and we're reminded that del Toro is very much interested in these things artistically and philosophically, making these moments stand out in a movie already chock-full of spectacular and memorable material. His story is decidedly not taking any inspiration from Christian or even Western ideas.

Del Toro and co-writer Patrick McHale sprinkle some excellent pithy morals and aphorisms in their dialogue, most of which skirt the familiar morals of the last few decades of children's fare, seemingly advocating for more mature themes. Sebastian at one critical point declares, "I try my best, and that's the best anyone can do," and that's the kind of wise perspective that sets him (and this film) apart. Pinocchio's tale here isn't always between lying and honesty, but in fact between life and death itself, and as he "grows up," he learns that life doesn't exist in those ideal forms -- or any idealization -- but rather in the space between them as we learn through failures and successes. It helps that this Pinocchio (voiced by Gregory Mann) looks more puppet-like than many iterations, and his abrasive naivete is on full display rather than sidelined. Children aren't usually perfectly behaved curious little cherubs, and it's refreshing to see that in a film that would otherwise be deemed "for children."

It helps, too, that del Toro himself has long championed, in his film, the monstrous and misunderstood who have been hurt by the "civilized" world. He seems to be quite in love with his odd little puppet, and perhaps that's why he clearly wanted his Pinocchio to look more naturalistic and even tree-like. Anything, he seems to say, but a depiction of a typical little boy or even anything too structured, perhaps to continue his ongoing commentary on the dangers of fascist ideologies. It's telling, I think, that apart from Mussolini himself -- who the film directly mocks -- the other major male characters are wicked, including the villainous Count Volpe (Christoph Waltz) who abuses his monkey Spazzatura (Cate Blanchett) and Pinocchio while on tour as well as a government official named Podesta (Ron Perlman) who strictly disciplines his son Candlewick (Finn Wolfhard). One wonders, too, if the often-repeated setting of the town church and visuals of the crucifix indicate del Toro's critical commentary extends to the Catholic church. I suspect it does.

Ultimately, the film leaves us with a surprisingly soft reminder that death isn't always something to be feared, but rather to be respected. Mortality is a gift, even as it curses us with sorrow and pain during life. Even the dual-cast roles of Geppetto's biological son and created son as well as the Wood Sprite and Death indicate a duality of life across the bridge of death. It's at once sobering and refreshing for this kind of thematic content in an animated straight-to-streaming feature, reminding us all that the most beautiful and lovely things in life are what we make, faults and all, out of hardship and tragedy and horror. And maybe some of the lovely things we make will continue on after we're gone, enriching the lives of those who come after. Who knew Pinocchio could be such a philosophical journey?

Birds of Prey (2020)

Score: 4.5 / 5

This is the high-speed candy-colored f-bomb-littered roller coaster of a movie I really wanted from Suicide Squad. I liked that movie quite a lot, but it deserved more attitude and perhaps a less dire premise. Cathy Yan's Birds of Prey takes those extra steps to fashion a fun, violent, wicked, and smart action flick that feeds off the visuals of the earlier movie while making a strong case for more feminist content in superhero movies.

Along with some intense framing devices -- including an almost-annoying Deadpool-esque voiceover throughout the movie -- the film starts with a few narrative bangs that throw us right into the action. It's been rough for the antihero Harley Quinn after she and her comrades defeated the Enchantress, particularly because the Joker broke up with her. The first act of the movie is the sort of balls-out wacky fun we'd expect from her attempts at coping, and essentially comprises a fever-dream montage of her intoxicated clubbing, adopting a hyena pet named Bruce, cutting her hair, and taking up roller derby. This sequence ends when she drives a semi into the chemical plant where she and Joker became official, blowing it up in a trippy firework explosion. The female empowerment is infectiously fun, but eventually becomes earnest.

Despite the primary title of Birds of Prey, this is really Harley's movie, suggested by its subtitle the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn. An unwieldy title, it nevertheless manages to convey the spirit of the picture. Various threads of the story feel at first too convoluted for their own good, as we're yanked around between briefly introduced (or not introduced) characters at different times in the narrative. I'd have to rewatch the damn thing to figure out exactly which scene took place first chronologically. But that seems to be the point: if this is Harley's story, she's telling it as it would make sense to her. Hence the voiceover narration, I guess, which might be the first time I've felt voiceover is not only justified but possibly necessary to the telling of a particular story.

When crime lord Roman Sionis (who moonlights as the Black Mask) realizes Harley Quinn is single, he prepares to kill her off to eliminate an irritating liability. But the resourceful Harley offers to help Roman find a precious diamond that will lead him to a fortune. Silly MacGuffin as it may be, this diamond has been swallowed by street thief Cassandra Cain, whom Harley tracks down and saves from the Gotham police as well as bounty hunters and Roman's thugs. The two women bond even as Harley feeds Cassandra laxatives by the bottle, and the movie becomes a cat-and-mouse chase with lots of moving parts, including Black Canary (who works for Roman but informs to detective Renee Montoya) and Huntress (whose personal vendetta isn't fully revealed until late in the film). These women are all secondary in the screenplay, but are given strong scenes that showcase the actresses and their impressive physicality well.

Once the various pieces come together in a fabulously satisfying scene inside a fun house at an abandoned amusement park, the "Birds of Prey" take magnificent flight. Yan masterfully handles a balance between comedy and violence, keeping her unique aesthetic vision true to the material while serving up full helpings of technical accomplishments. She works brilliantly well with cinematographer Matthew Libatique (one of my favorites) to craft a fluid visual approach to the kind of hands-on violence we don't often get even in male-dominated superhero movies. These women are taking their punches and dealing out even harder ones, and the camera catches it all in dynamic, kinetic takes. And while Christina Hodson's (whose previous work is nothing special) screenplay is a little frenetic, it works beautifully in crafting our understanding of Harley's character -- and the very specific world in which she lives (this is not a Gotham we've seen before) -- as well as each of its ensemble cast.

I hope these Birds flock together again soon.

Doctor Sleep (2019)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Mike Flanagan is one of my favorite horror writer/directors right now, and this movie showcases why. Not because it shows off his unique talents or even because it stays true to his own aesthetic, though to some extent it does both. But in Doctor Sleep, Flanagan succeeds in the nearly inconceivable project of staying true to a book written as a sequel to another book that was disloyally adapted to film, and in so doing, tying all three works together while crafting something new. By definition, then, this film cannot be discussed wholly on its own, but must be considered in tandem with Kubrick's 1980 The Shining and Stephen King's two books of the same names.

Doctor Sleep begins shortly after Danny and his mother escaped the Overlook Hotel. Danny, still haunted by the ghosts, learns from Dick Hallorann (dead in this version, following Kubrick's story) how to lock up ghosts in psychic boxes in his mind. We suddenly jump forward thirty years, when an alcoholic Danny (Ewan McGregor) -- who has tried to suppress his "shine" -- makes a new friend and attempts to clean himself up. He gets sober and works at a hospice, using his abilities to comfort dying patients, earning him his titular nickname. We jump forward again to the present, and if you're wondering why the plot is so strange already, you can blame King.

But this is where things get interesting, because we are introduced to a migrating cult of psychic vampires known as the True Knot, who survive by inhaling "steam" which people with "shine" exude as they die. It's weird and heady and not really the stuff of great horror until we see the vagabonds in full form: Jacob Tremblay's bit part ends when he is tortured and killed by the vampires. Their leader, Rose the Hat (a stunning Rebecca Ferguson), is also their primary hunter, and she grows telepathically aware of the distress of a little girl named Abra. Abra's shine ability (forgive me) outshines everyone's, and she reaches out to Danny for help. Rose begins hunting the girl, hinting that her wellspring of shine will help the vampires continue their semi-immortal lives for a long time indeed.

The film's oddly episodic structure is deftly handled by Flanagan, who never lets the exposition get in the way of his story or aesthetic. Whereas Kubrick's film works best, arguably, as psychological horror -- although we know from the beginning that Jack Nicholson is crazy, and also I dislike his acting in general, but that's just me -- Flanagan's provokes something more like emotional horror. With the help of some handy nostalgia and effective use of McGregor, Flanagan allows us plentiful inlets to care about these characters deeply. Even Rose, the villain, is so memorably played by Ferguson that I found I cared for her, even as she evilly uses her beauty and charm to violent ends. So when Danny returns to the snowbound Overlook Hotel, we know we're in for a seriously fucked-up finale.

Personally, I'm pretty ambivalent about Kubrick's film. It's beautifully shot and designed, of course, but I find it colossally boring. And while Doctor Sleep lurches wildly from episode to episode, trying to balance psychic vampires with alcoholism and ghosts with astral projection, it does so with a keen sense of forward motion. We know this sequel is actually going somewhere, and even though most of the picture does not feel even remotely connected to The Shining, the climax is a thrilling, riveting marriage of the many versions/visions of this story. It seems to attempt a reconciliation between Flanagan's movie, Kubrick's movie, and King's books, and in my mind, it succeeds magnificently. I haven't been so moved and pleased at the end of a horror movie sequel in a long time, and a big part of that is Flanagan's ballsy move to change the ending to suit his needs. Specifically, it's all about empowerment and overcoming trauma and the cost of sacrifice, and with these themes tacked on to a technically brilliant film, it's infinitely more satisfying than Kubrick's.

Christopher Robin (2018)

Score: 4.5 / 5

I fully expected Christopher Robin to be an emotional disaster. Even the trailer had me weeping uncontrollably. I went in anticipating emotional brutality at every turn as the older character of Christopher Robin gets re-introduced to his stuffed animal friends and has to learn the value of imagination, friendship, and bravery. And while that is the gist of the story, it by no means characterizes the film.

What we get instead is a rollicking comedy-adventure that feels more like a real Winnie the Pooh story, albeit with real people. With the memories of his childhood suddenly thrust upon Christopher Robin's adult consciousness, Pooh awakens from slumber in the Hundred Acre Wood to discover his friends have all vanished. Of course the silly old bear decides to go find Christopher Robin to help, and he unwittingly stumbles into London. What follows is a magnificent adventure involving all the classic characters brought to glorious life by some eye-popping animation and, of course, the voice talents of the great Jim Cummings.

While the film's family-friendly adventure bits cemented themselves as wholly novel and utterly surprising in my mind, I would be remiss to neglect the other half of the story as well. While the primary story concerns the animals and their attempts to help their grown-up friend, the secondary story is far less original. Christopher Robin (Ewan McGregor) has become world-weary and distracted, neglecting his wife (Hayley Atwell, thank heaven) and daughter (Bronte Carmichael) to slave away at his work. Of course this gets preachy -- perhaps too much so -- but it is a Disney movie, after all. And as far as messages that his you over the head, this one is never going to wear out its welcome: Children are not children forever so don't sacrifice them to duties, and, similarly, embrace your own inner child before it's lost forever.

The film's warm heart contrasts nicely with its melancholic, often dark aesthetic, which breaks gloriously to amber sunlight in increasing increments as the film progresses. Heavy use of nature in the setting sometimes feels arthouse-y and even transcendent, like you might see in a Terrence Malick picture or even Into the Woods, and makes the whole impression that much more tactile and interesting. I liked this approach more than I expected, as the intricate details of the shadowed environment make Pooh's little truisms so much more poignant.

My love for this film stems from its affect, its aggressive but complicated way of stirring up emotions. My earnest hope is that we might get more Winnie the Pooh adventures as sequels -- because wouldn't it be great to see some of our favorite Milne stories mashed up together in a film featuring these magnificent stuffed animals? -- but I'm not convinced that will happen. As it is, we can enjoy this surprisingly successful standalone flick "deep in the hundred acre woods...."

IMDb: Christopher Robin

Beauty and the Beast (2017)

Score: 5 / 5

It's everything you could want it to be, piled with even more on top. While some will no doubt question and criticize an almost shot-for-shot remake of a beloved classic, this new vision overcomes any and all pitfalls along its way with style and splendor to spare. In an age of remakes that don't always work (think of the abysmal Cinderella in 2015) and re-imaginings that only occasionally do (Pete's Dragon, as opposed to Maleficent), it is certainly a risk to be aiming for the Golden Era of Disney musicals. With the likes of Aladdin and The Little Mermaid coming soon from the studio, one can only hope that Disney is up for the challenge. But if this film was any indication, we're in for a new golden age.

Taking up the torch of other fabulous remakes, Beauty and the Beast does everything right. Like the 1996 101 Dalmatians, it expands the story just enough to round out the characters, fill in plot holes, and address a new audience. Here we get a bit more of Belle's melancholy backstory, and while it doesn't seem quite necessary, it helps us understand the new dynamic between Belle and Maurice, played to perfection here by Kevin Kline. Maurice's sentimental vocation consists of making music boxes while Belle is now the inventor. This film slyly patches up shady holes from the cartoon such as its dubious timeline and the nature of the enchantress's magic. Not much is done to address the Stockholm syndrome or bestiality inherent in the story, but then again, why would it? That's the fun stuff. And while the marketing of this film was deeply flawed regarding its "gay agenda", let me assure you: there is no difference between this film and the cartoon in terms of LeFou. He was a simpering sycophant then and he is again here; representation of gay characters may be important, but so is good representation, and a flamboyant minion of the big baddie whose unrequited affections earn him physical punishment and emotional distress is not good representation. That said, the character does fare better than in the original, and here he is shown to break from Gaston during the climax to help the castle's inhabitants in repelling the violent townsfolk. And while the character is no more gay here than he was 26 years ago, we do see him dancing briefly with another man during the finale. Kind of like what happened at the end of Mamma Mia!, except without Colin Firth taking his shirt off.

It also, like last year's The Jungle Book, stays almost painfully true to the original -- down to exact musical numbers and bits of dialogue -- so that its state-of-the-art special effects and live-action visuals enchant us anew. "Necessity" be damned; I'd happily watch an exact replica of a classic cartoon done in live action any day, because animation doesn't always do it for me. It's just preference, so stop your bellyaching purist crap. There is so much detail carved into every single frame of the film that you'll never be able to catch everything. Richly detailed sets (production designer Sarah Greenwood also worked in Atonement, Anna Karenina, and the recent Sherlock Holmes films) and costumes (Jacqueline Durran, with similar credits) fashion a tangible tapestry with more style than you can appreciate. Realistic CGI mesmerizes you into believing in magic, and if that sounds paradoxical, it's just a testament to the colossal achievement of these filmmakers.

Other technical elements might deserve more praise than I can give, but lastly I'll mention the music. Hearing these beloved songs re-orchestrated is a magic on its own. We hear little countermelodies and darker edges to familiar tunes that make them seem fresh, as though we're hearing them for the first time. Alan Menken wrote some new music for the film with Tim Rice, and the songs fit in perfectly. They will also be new favorites. Of course, they gave one to Kevin Kline to sing that will tug at your heartstrings (and stick around for the credits, because Celine Dion sings it again, much like she did the title track for the original). They also gave a new one to the household staff, and while it's no "Human Again", it's a similar idea and no less lovely. The best, however, is saved for Dan Stevens (of Downton Abbey fame), who belts out the transcendent "Evermore" as he climbs the castle, watching Belle ride off to save her father. It's a brutal yank at your heartstrings that, I promise, will leave you feeling things.

Thankfully, as you might have gathered, Bill Condon shows that he knows how to use his fabulous ensemble cast to the best of their varied abilities. It's not easy to do, but here he finds the perfect moments to highlight everyone at their most fabulous. Luke Evans shows off his impressive singing chops while Josh Gad does his comedic thing, and the two share some great scenes together. Even better, the animated castle staff all have their places firmly staked out, and whether they're animated or not, all perform admirably. Keep your ears open for Ian McKellan, Stanley Tucci, Gugu Mbatha-raw, and the incomparable Audra McDonald. I was a bit put off by Ewan McGregor's Lumiere (mostly because who is Lumiere but a Maurice Chevalier wannabe?), but it didn't take long for him to grow on me too.

But the greatest success of Beauty and the Beast is its unequivocal sense of Joy. It's pure and intoxicating from the first rapturous musical number. A furious cascade of song and dance, style and substance, color and light, the film flies through its two-hour running time with ease, puking its happiness out of the screen and into your heart. It's not a sensation we feel often in movies these days. But, then, don't we want more than this provincial life? It's here to say, "Bonjour!"

IMDb: Beauty and the Beast

Jane Got a Gun (2016)

Score: 2 / 5

For a run-of-the-mill Western, it's not bad. But in a genre all but dead, we definitely hope for something with a bit more kick.

Leading the otherwise traditional narrative is our female hero, Jane (Natalie Portman), whose skill with a gun is second only to her skill at emoting. While nursing her bullet-ridden hubby (Noah Emmerich), she prepares for the approach of a gang of outlaws, namely the "Bishop Boys" led by none other than Ewan McGregor with a black, triangular moustache and shiny prosthetic buck teeth. To aid her, she enlists her ex-lover Dan (Joel Edgerton) in booby-trapping her little home and fending off the raiders. As the climax approaches ever so sluggishly, we undergo flashbacks revealing the nature of the hatred between all parties involved, including the Civil War, lost letters, pregnancy, a boot in a river, and PG-rated prostitution.

Apart from its irritating title, Jane Got a Gun is a mess to watch. Thinly sketched characters, stock cinematography, and some of the worst pacing I've ever seen make viewing this movie a trip and a half, and that's before you've even broken out the whiskey. There's some nice set work, a nice performance from Portman, and occasionally nice visuals. But since when are Westerns "nice"? Poorly balancing between gritty action (when the movie succeeds) and sentimental melodrama (where the movie could succeed but notably fails), the picture teeters towards waste, forsaking the strengths of its lead talents in favor of shallow action and unfocused storytelling.

Even with its slim 90-some-minute running time, the film feels too long. There's no joy to be found in this world, unlike in Cowboys & Aliens, and even during what should feel like a rousing feminist climax and denouement, you really just pray it'll hurry up and finish. Conversely, if joy isn't your desire for Westerns, there's also only the shadow of darkness, no disturbing violence or moral compromises we have to endure like in The Hateful Eight or even parts of The Magnificent Seven (both of which arguably feature both joy and horror, seemingly perfect for the post-Western Western film).

It's worth a watch, if only for Portman, but only if you have nothing better to see.

IMDb: Jane Got a Gun

Mortdecai (2015)

Score: 4 / 5

Everyone seems to hate Mortdecai -- this year's first big comedy -- but I didn't. In fact, being someone who categorically avoids comedies, I was surprised to enjoy it as much as I did. I laughed out loud through most of the film, which doesn't make it great by any measure, but it certainly claimed my favor. A lot of factors play into its apparent failure: it plays off stereotyped Britishisms so heavily that that seems to be its central theme, its crime and action sequences are few and far between (and simply not very good), and there is little real plot or character development. So why did I like it?

Mortdecai, featuring an A-list cast of Johnny Depp, Gwyneth Paltrow, Ewan McGregor, and Paul Bettany, bounces off hilarious characterizations and sharply intelligent performances with infectious speed and fervor. Depp feels plucked straight out of a period farce and dropped into a modern world that could never quite embrace him; this is also perfect for his character, who in one scene repeats his concern that a Los Angeles hotel is in fact the set of a porno film. Paltrow and McGregor balance Depp's wild turn as solid caricatures, one a domineering and resourceful woman, the other an officer smitten with puppy love. Paul Bettany mirrors Depp's every move with a stoic, sexually voracious bodyguard/manservant who literally takes shot after shot for his boss (and some delivered by his boss). Director David Koepp (who also directed Secret Window, 2004) keeps the visuals bright and clean, heightening the world into a farcical fantasy, where even the silly animated transitions between continents are strangely entertaining (perhaps not quite so much as the dotted maps in Indiana Jones, but that shit's just genius).

It's not the sleuth/caper/action film I expected, but it certainly has some shining moments of comedy and style that are simply rare in modern comedies (though I say this having little real experience with such films). Depp's scene-stealing mannerisms as the posh, prissy art dealer are mesmerizing, and his constant banter about his Poirot-like mustache is at once absurd, redundant, and hilarious. True, he spends most of his time on screen mugging for the camera, but that's sometimes what works best for an actor of his peculiar talents. Besides the great chemistry between Depp, Paltrow, and Bettany, all the cast shares an uncanny knack for perfect comedic timing, from Depp's nervously mumbled warblings to the sympathetic gagging between husband and wife over the former's shiny little mustache. Unfortunately, we see precious little of Olivia Munn and Jeff Goldblum, though their moments are also lovely.

If you're looking for a zany absurdist comedy to enjoy after this year's whirlwind of an awards season, you could do much worse than Mortdecai. In fact, for a genre that's been largely extinct in America for a few decades now, this film rocks at achieving its own larger-than-life agenda. No, the script won't have you digging for information or clues, and no, the car chases and shoot-outs aren't anything to remember later on. But for sharp wit, bizarre style, and utterly madcap performances, Mortdecai gives us its all.

IMDb: Mortdecai