Pete's Dragon (2016)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Disney's on a bit of a winning streak, and this one is just the latest jewel in its crown. A nostalgic bit of magic, the film reminds us of a time when "Disney movies" meant something, when as a kid I would look at the beautiful Disney VHS cases at rental stores and eagerly look forward to the color and lights, feel the kindness and joy of characters, and feel empowered and affirmed. Sure, I can now recognize some serious ideological flaws in even the oldest Disney classics. But that doesn't necessarily mean I don't still feel a tingle of joy when I consider re-viewing Sleeping Beauty or Snow White. It's that kind of magic Disney is bringing back to its films, but now they (mostly) have stronger, better messages. Look at the purpose and power of Judy Hopps, the feminist and queer dynamics of Queen Elsa, the autonomy of Mowgli, the community of care and love around Dory, and the honest consequences of wishes and actions in Into the Woods. Disney still has its missteps (as in the colossal waste of time and energy of the Cinderella remake), but by and large they are still decent exercises in filmmaking, and they surely bring joy to some.

I don't really remember the original -- with the notable exceptions of Mickey Rooney, absurd musical numbers, and the trippy cartoon beast itself -- but I do remember distinctly not liking it. I was, you might imagine, a little hesitant to go see this remake. Thankfully my worries were proven unnecessary.

Pete's Dragon hits all its marks. It's a totally safe and sweet PG adventure, a rollicking coming-of-age dramedy with some light action, some familiar drama, and a whole lotta heart. It's one of those movies dripping with sentiment that actually works. A pretty thin film, full of breathtaking special effects and wonderful vision, simple and straightforward, never promising more than it gives and relishing the smallest of moments just long enough for us to take everything in. Director David Lowery (Ain't Them Bodies Saints) and cinematographer Bojan Bazelli (The Ring, Mr. & Mrs. Smith, Hairspray, Burlesque) imbue the film with a mythic quality that starts small and builds to a charming if safe climax, all while keeping the action controlled and measured. While the effects are massive, there's no overkill; whereas the original was hallucinatory and vivid, everything here is grounded and detailed realistically, including the dragon itself. Furry and green, it emotes perhaps more than any of the actors.

That's not to say the actors aren't on their game, though the script only gives a couple of them anything to work with. Little Oakes Fegley is a wonder to watch and a joy to behold as he commands the screen in every shot. Bryce Dallas Howard is the other joy here, delivering a turn as loving mother and motherly guardian of the Pacific Northwest forest. Robert Redford pops in for a few scenes as the grandfatherly narrator, and both Wes Bentley and Karl Urban run around with appropriate and contrasting energies.

The greater joys for me lie in the production itself. Besides the visual magic, Lowery's screenplay refocuses the story, simplifying the plot and making a clear case for environmentalism. He also continues a trend we've seen in Boyhood and Room, allowing a boy to mature before our eyes, while surrounding him with an amazing mother figure. The music by Daniel Hart is primarily folksy, helping the mythic presentation along, while strengthening major themes of family and home. Home may be where the heart is, but it's also a place in the world, a place in time, and the place with the people we love. Pete finds a home in the forest with Elliott the dragon, he also finds home with his surrogate family in town; Elliott ultimately finds his own home, farther away from "civilization" that ravages the land and his species.

Pete's Dragon is a lovely little meditation on all these and more, and a simple joy to watch. In a summer of films that are largely disappointments, that's a pretty great thing to say.

IMDb: Pete's Dragon

Southpaw (2015)

Score: 4 / 5

Man is an athletic champion. Man suffers personal tragedy. Man struggles to fix his life. Man trains to win again. Man wins contest and regains his life. Add that he's white and wealthy, and try not to gag.

We've all heard it. We've all seen it. There is literally nothing fresh about it. So how did I end up gasping and crying my way through the two-hour sports drama?

Because Southpaw is different. Because director Antoine Fuqua (Training Day, King Arthur) holds no punches back from the brutality of the sport in question. Because cinematographer Mauro Fiore (Avatar) keeps things heavy, dark, and gritty. Because writer Kurt Sutter (Sons of Anarchy) poetically captures the horrors of an environment that is usually glamorized in our culture. Because the late great composer of epics James Horner (Titanic) very subtly mirrors our protagonist's descent into hell and eventual redemption with his score.

And, of course, the bulk of praise goes to Jake Gyllenhaal, who once again proves his determination to transform himself into his characters. After last year's Nightcrawler, when he lost weight, grew out his hair, and articulately perfected his character, Gyllenhaal has here bulked up, buzzed his hair, and solemnly retreated into the recesses of his mind. Much like Tom Hardy in last year's The Drop, Gyllenhaal keeps us guessing as to his exact personality because he so flawlessly portrays a man who has given his all to his body and the sport that he can scarcely articulate his feelings. And yet he allows us a few moments of genuine vulnerability, especially when we see him with his daughter; we also see, through some magic he works, his true character in his moments alone as he battles his demons, both in the ring and out.

If you know me at all, you know I love horror movies. I can usually handle the violence, no sweat. But I have a lot of trouble with watching fistfighting, which often happens out of the blue (remember Gangster Squad? Sheesh). I was expecting a fair amount here, but I had to cover my eyes a lot in this movie. That just goes to show, though, how determined the cast and crew were to show the physical effects of boxing on the human body. Fuqua never shies away from the blood, the sweat, and (most unnerving for me) the close-ups. It's in these moments that this film doesn't feel like most sports dramas, in which the sweat makes the characters look glorious, and the brief dripping blood is the most disturbing part of the film.

Rather, here we see horrors well beyond the field. The disparities between celebrity athletes and street fighters, the financial problems of inner-city youth, the isolating effects of a parent's death on her child. Fuqua and Sutter also (and, I think, most successfully) hide certain moments of violence from us, probably to keep the already dark film out of the realm of exploitation or horror. They don't refrain from discussing these moments, or even from seeing their tragic aftermath. But we don't see, for example, the fatal shooting of our protagonist's wife. We don't see the death of the young black man our protagonist is training. But we don't have to. Those moments are quite brutal enough, attesting to the abilities of our filmmakers. And the absence of these moments is more than made up for in the (in my opinion) extravagantly violent boxing scenes.

If nothing else, at least see this picture for Gyllenhaal. He's incredible.

IMDb: Southpaw