Disenchanted (2022)

Score: 1.5 / 5

The long-awaited and much-anticipated sequel to Disney's 2007 sleeper hit that became a cult classic (if Disney has such things) has finally arrived. Unfortunately, I rather wish it hadn't. Unlike the recent Strange World, which had clear reasons to exist and a vibrant, beating heart to share with audiences, Disenchanted is one of the most vapid and unnecessary viewing experiences I've had all year. The film starts with an annoying recap of Enchanted in cartoon style, narrated by Pip the squirrel, and then launches into an introductory sequence that sees Giselle (Amy Adams) and Robert (Patrick Dempsey) fleeing their apartment in NYC to live in the suburbs.

The first film worked best as a riff on NYC as a place "where there are no happy endings." This film tries to take that a step further with suburbia, but its commentary begins and ends in a single song about the move. Then when the real plot starts, they're basically already there, without any adventuring or navigating that transition. Robert's daughter Morgan (now played by a different actress, Gabriella Baldacchino) is a clichéd grumpy teenager, and the new baby Robert and Giselle have is barely seen and only really exists in order to move them from the city to Monroeville. Their "fixer upper" is actually quite lovely, but Monroeville isn't quite happy ever after territory either. Morgan and Giselle bicker constantly, and the busybody PTA leader Malvina (Maya Rudolph) isn't very hospitable.

Everything is a wreck in this movie, beginning with the screenplay, which simply cannot decide who should be the focus or why. Giselle decides to wish her new home could be more fairytale-esque, and so the next day they wake up in a magical, musical version of life. Malvina and her two henchwomen, meant to be the villains, are woefully flat and their attempts to be funny or menacing are mostly annoying. The King and Queen of Andalasia (James Marsden and Idina Menzel) arrive to see Giselle's new digs, and while it's nice to actually have Menzel sing in this film, the writers overcompensate by giving her multiple songs when she has almost nothing to do with the plot. Giselle's curse backfires a bit by slowly turning herself into a wicked stepmother, and really that's the only interesting part of this movie.

Amy Adams brings her considerable, venerable talents to this material and lifts it enough to make things watchable. And, truly, she's still very good. But she's bogged down at every single turn by weird casting choices around her, a uniquely uninspired screenplay, direction more excited by action and effects than any attention to story or character, and unbearably terrible songs. This last will probably earn me some flak, but Alan Menken and Stephen Schwartz phoned in every single song in this film. None are catchy or memorable, and none are usable outside the film because every song makes constant references to characters and setting that are specific to this film alone. Maybe the only repeatable song here is "Love Power," which actually sucks as a standalone piece except that Menzel's awesome voice makes it chillingly beautiful.

I think there's something in here about the danger of making wishes, about the power of memory, about choosing your family and your path in life. But no thematic ideas are carried through to any kind of meaningful conclusion. It's just a mess of nice dancing, pretty singing, cool costumes, and relentless cheap effects. "Happily never after," indeed. If I could get my hands on Giselle's wishing wand, I'd wish this movie had never been made.

Luca (2021)

 Score: 3 / 5

The latest collaboration between Pixar and Disney is a mixed bag of half-baked ideas and cloying sentiment that looks great, feels sweet, and left me melancholy and generally unsatisfied. But that's not to say I didn't enjoy it while it lasted, and I'd rather watch it than most of the animated crap pumped out by other studios. It's only to say that, for a partnership that has redefined animated moviemaking for the last three decades (excepting the miserable Cars franchise), it's less than groundbreaking. In fact, it feels like an Italian fever dream after watching The Little Mermaid and Finding Nemo and eating too much pasta under a Tuscan sun.

Luca is a young sea monster, living underwater near the Italian Riviera, looking a bit like a disco merboy with his neon-green scales and bright blue head of whatever fishfolk have instead of hair. Growing bored with his days of shepherding a little school of brainless fish, he sees boats overhead and dreams of wanting to be where the people are. He's voiced by Jacob Tremblay, whose few credits of unspeakably brilliant acting (Room, Wonder) have led way to a bizarre and premature sophomore slump recently that we certainly hope he will overcome; here, he serviceably performs the title character with little to note. Of course, his parents (an unfortunately not particularly funny Maya Rudolph and Jim Gaffigan pairing) are terrified of humans, as they are well aware that the seaside villa rely on fish and fear and hate the legends of monsters in the nearby sea. A few fallen items from the surface, though -- whosits and whatsits galore! -- inspire Luca to explore farther than he ever has. He wants to, other fish might say, touch the butt.

It is, ultimately, a brief encounter with another, slightly older monster boy that brings Luca out of the sea. Alberto, voiced by a wonderful Jack Dylan Grazer (Shazam!, It and It: Chapter Two), has almost everything Luca has dreamed of. He lives an amphibian life, roaming the sea by day and sleeping in an abandoned coastal tower by night. His charisma and bravery are infectious: "Silenzio Bruno!" he says, to silence his cautious inner voice. Alberto's goal of owning a Vespa lead into multiple daydream sequences of the boys riding off into a golden sunset, flying over Florentine meadows in blissful freedom. Luca is mesmerized, and the two boys connect immediately. It helps that their transition from monster to human is involuntary. When dry, they have skin; when wet, scales return.

The actual plot begins rather late in the film, when Luca's parents, distressed by his ventures to the open air, plan to send him to live with translucent anglerfish-like Uncle Ugo (Sacha Baron Cohen being, well, weird) in the deep ocean. Panicked by the prospect, Luca and Alberto flee to Portorosso, the monster-hunting villa in what appears to be the Genoa coast. They soon meet Giulia (Emma Berman), determined to beat the town bully Ercole Visconti in a triathlon of swimming, bicycling, and eating pasta. This wild sequence is where the originality and beauty of the movie shine. Director Enrico Casarosa hits his stride in allowing the hazy Italian sun to illuminate photographic visuals of a fully realized world; the warmth and light pour out of the screen until you can smell the food and bricks and salty air. Many shots of the sea are more photorealistic than anything Pixar has ever done, and it certainly helps our understanding of why Luca has craved the freedom to travel and see this whole new world.

This sense of freedom is key in this film, a proper Bildungsroman of burgeoning desires and the deep sense of satisfaction that comes with independence and discovery. It manifests Romantically in Luca's setting, but also in its heavily weighted symbolism, particularly of the Vespa icon. More importantly, freedom is also the key to understanding all the characters of the film, from Luca and Alberto to Giulia and Ercole and even Uncle Ugo. But this freedom, the film suggests, comes with a dangerous social cost, and may entrap us behind performativity more than we were trapped in more familiar surroundings.

On this level, the heavy theming of this film seems to actively invite queer interpretation. Luca and Alberto, apart from their clearly affectionate relationship, are designed and performed as pre-pubescent, and labeling anything as explicitly sexual would be a stretch. But the youthful romance is shockingly present, and for a while I wondered how Pixar and Disney would handle the material. As we might expect, they don't, and in fact the director has publicly and aggressively denied any queer subtext and criticized people who feel moved and empowered by the narrative. The film itself, however, cannot be constrained by Casarosa's fear of queerness, and the shapeshifting boys hiding their monstrosity among the human hoi polloi is immediately relatable to any queer person. The lies they tell as they explore, the fantasies they dream up together, and the shame associated with their otherness are all here in spades; indeed, the film hinges on these elements to finally reach its narrative climax and the only character development at the very end. "Some people, they'll never accept him," Luca's grandmother says at one point. "But some will. And he seems to know how to find the good ones." I wept, honey. 

Despite a derivative and dull first act, the movie eventually hits its beautiful stride when it embraces its absurd and endearing plot among the humans. But, sweet and sentimental as its story of young friendship is, it's hard to appreciate because it does nothing fresh or interesting with it. Queer or not, two young friends who decide to part ways isn't worth yet another movie; even their identity as monsters -- unless coded as something substantial -- becomes immaterial by the conclusion. Ultimately, there isn't much wrong with the whole affair, aimed as it seems to be at younger audiences. There's just not much that's memorable, either. Casarosa would have done better to, like Luca, moved out of his safety nets and into a wider world.