The Wolf of Snow Hollow (2020)

 Score: 4.5 / 5

Werewolf stories were always really about sexual hunger and toxic masculinity, weren't they? Monologues about "the beast within" and their ravenous appetite were thin codes about men's unbridled lust and need to objectify others for their flesh; it helps that the victims or targets are often young women, even back in the Brothers Grimm stories. Even when the tables are turned (notably in Michael Dougherty's Halloween masterpiece Trick 'r Treat) and a woman is the monster, it's usually a commentary on rape-revenge scenarios, where the woman targets the man who has attacked her (or who will attack her). And while writer/director Jim Cummings's second movie (no, not the Jim Cummings of voice acting fame) is certainly predicated on exploiting this thematic tendency of werewolf myth, it also turns it into a rare horror-comedy that honors its subject matter.

Poor Deputy John Marshall. He didn't need a violent murder to make his life any more stressful. In quick succession, after he is summoned to the scene of a murdered woman who had been ripped apart in the snow, we learn that he is a recovering alcoholic, he's trying to be a good father although his ex-wife hates him, and he's caring and covering for his ill father who is also the sheriff (and you thought working with a spouse would be tough!). As he takes in the scene, it's pretty clear he might not be up for this case. Cummings himself plays the character with a twitchy anxiety, not of a Don Knotts type but one whose good intentions have met their breaking point. It doesn't help the guy that his team is almost incompetent; though his quiet partner Julia (Riki Lindhome) is supportive and reliable, John increasingly barks orders at the other officers who are never able to give him a moment's peace to process evidence. Their constant barrage of information and summons would be enough to drive anyone crazy.

And it only gets worse as, night after night, more bodies pop up around the Utah ski resort called Snow Hollow. The eccentric, silly villagers (think a watered-down Fargo type place where people are used to getting too much snow and too little sunshine) almost immediately suspect a werewolf, but John is convinced that it's a serial killer and he's the one to bring him down. It's not quite toxic, though, and Cummings's brilliant screenplay walks a fine line of making the proceedings hilarious and remarkably realistic. These are regular people dealing with an impossible situation; they butt heads and roll their eyes and let their imaginations run wild because that's what anyone would do. As such, they make mistakes, and while John's angst occasionally gets the better of him, he never devolves to a bumbling fool, mostly because his personal life is too grounded in real pain.

The work is one of an understated genius, delivered with the easy accessibility of a confident veteran filmmaker, and it's awesome to behold. Though it comfortably sits in that uncomfortable tonal region of a specific horror tradition and sincere comedy, The Wolf of Snow Hollow works best because it never fully goes in for hair-raising terror or laugh-aloud humor. It knowingly denies us those senses of release, preferring to let us chuckle darkly before flinching when things get bad, forcing us to feel the kind of mania its characters surely feel. And though its references are there for anyone to read (other than the Coen brothers and John Carpenter, I noted some Scream in the funny-until-it's-not opening sequence) it never feels like a cheap facsimile, or that it's preying on our expectations.

Indeed, by the final act, I was fully absorbed in the twist-a-minute pacing. It felt more than a little rushed, and I definitely would have preferred more character moments and general understanding of the villagers' stakes, mostly because they are all so unique and fascinating. Especially John himself deserved more solo time on screen, if only to help us feel in cahoots rather than spectators. But you have to admire the film's determination to pump out its story quickly, and I think its unusual style works in its favor for viewers tired of content choking with unnecessary fluff. Plus, the ending of this movie brilliantly dramatizes not only the surprisingly realistic way a werewolf story should work in the modern world, but knowingly focuses our attention on why the genre is still so important in terms of men, women, and voracious appetites.

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