The Wild Robot (2024)

Score: 5 / 5

One of the most beautiful animated movies yet made is also one of the most spiritually satisfying. The Wild Robot, released along with the news that DreamWorks is downsizing and beginning to outsource its artists, feels like the ending of an era on the highest note possible. Partial as this reviewer is to Disney animation, occasionally a film from another studio will capture my attention and my heart: Sony/Marvel's Across the Spider-verse, Toho's Your Name, or Laika's Kubo and the Two Strings come immediately to mind, though there are many more. I haven't cared much about releases from DreamWorks since they released 2D masterpieces like The Prince of Egypt, The Road To El Dorado, and Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas.

But The Wild Robot slows things down and allows you to soak in its transcendent spectacle. Every image sparkles with knowing color grading, endlessly detailed minutiae, and ever deeper... well, depth. Watching it on the largest screen possible is akin to staring at a nature documentary about a coral reef, bursting with authentic, earned life even as it dazzles you with its own splendor. Like a living painting, it breathes life in a strange, somewhat indescribable way. In fact, my only gripe about the film is that, after it's over and you've come back down to earth, you quickly remember how flat and silly most other animation is by comparison. You could pause it at any moment and frame the image on your wall. Hell, you could watch it without sound and still be moved to tears.

Not that I recommend that. Its sound design is exquisite, and its voice acting even more so. Lupita Nyong'o voices the title character, Roz, a robot who crash-lands onto an island wilderness, seemingly in the Pacific northwest. Programmed to assist any human in every conceivable way, she hunts for a master with determination and fervor: encountering only woodland animals, she scares and upsets all of them in increasingly hilarious ways until she finally sits down and simply absorbs the world around her. Eventually coming to, she surprises the animals by having learned their language. Now the only thing stopping her from fulfilling her mandate is her generally off-putting insistence on assistance. After all, not everyone wants to be helped.

Apart from her silly and heartwarming encounters with a local opossum (Catherine O'Hara) and her children, a surly grizzly bear (Mark Hamill), beaver (Matt Berry) and fox Fink (Pedro Pascal), who becomes her most unexpected ally, Roz befriends all the critters on the island while also learning that nature isn't always nice to even its hardiest denizens. In fact, one of the things I loved most about this film was how unafraid of facing death it is; death isn't always welcome in children's fiction, but the best works never shy from it. The Wild Robot knows its audience deserves unvarnished truths about life and death, growing up and losing innocence and family and friends, and about our cultural losses of innocence when it comes to the ways humans are negatively impacting the environment. 

Before you get up in arms about politics infecting kids' media, I'll derail your tirade by noting that there is very little explicit ecocriticism here, relegated as it is to much later plot developments involving a deadly winter storm, a difficult migration south, and the reason robots this advanced exist on Earth at all (spoiler alert: it feels like early steps that might lead to the horrific state of affairs in the likes of WALL-E). Thankfully, that's not the only progressive element to this nuanced, endlessly layered story. Apart from the subtle issues of immigration, differently-abled communities, and linguistic social barriers, the film leans heavily -- that is, as a primary thematic element -- on found families and the crucial, universal need for friendships of unusual, surprising dynamics. Demonstrated integrity, consistency, and kindness are the currency of the day, and this movie champions community-building in every scene.

To describe the plot proper is not to spoil this film, but I won't summarize anything else here. Roz's relationship with her surrogate child, a gosling named Brightbill (Kit Connor), is born in the most horrific tragedy, cultivated in the joys and trials of childhood, forged in the treacherous crucible of adolescence, and reaches the kind of spiritual climax that can only be described as epic in the most classical sense. He's a runt, she's a freak, and they know instinctively that they need each other to survive; they learn to want each other to survive. And if you think I'm not tearing up as I write this....

Incandescently perfect as this film is for its entire runtime, nothing prepared me for the emotional wallops of its climax, which also includes apocalyptic disaster, invasion of highly advanced predators, and the threat of annihilation on multiple fronts, or how Roz as one of the most archetypal stock characters -- the protecting, providing mother, and a stoic robot at that -- goes on the most empowering and disturbing developmental arc I've seen from an animated character in my life. 

A film for kids about hot topics like climate change, immigration, disability, and broken families could so easily have been just that, flat and obvious, churned out of a major studio known for (let's be honest) a lot of grotesquely rendered, ideologically insipid movies for a reliable profit and then forgotten by the next year. But this movie, on literally every level of production, was clearly a labor of love. It's evidenced in every sense we as humans possess, and you can even feel it somewhere further inside, so deep it can only be proof we have a soul.

Overdramatic? I don't think so. Watch and see for yourself.

The Fall Guy (2024)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Could the 2020s see the return of simple, original, fabulous standalone blockbusters from major studios? So far, the signs are good, and after starring in both Barbie and now The Fall Guy, Ryan Gosling is making quite the splash as Hollywood's "it" leading man. It's refreshing to have these big budget, creatively inspired, wholly joyful movie experiences in an age when everything is part of larger IPs and guaranteed message boards meant to tease out obscure references in other media that is required for full comprehension. The studio effort to entertain above all else is admirable for the first time in a while, and especially with these titles that aren't weighty or even apparently eager for awards.

And just as how Barbie worked to remind us of the magic of production design in practical ways, The Fall Guy explicitly wants to lionize stunt workers in our age of fully saturated CGI action. It helps that it's being directed by David Leitch, who started his career as a stunt double and whose previously directed films (including John Wick, Atomic Blonde, and Deadpool 2) have significantly altered the landscape of contemporary action as a genre. Here, Leitch is clearly in his element, and the labor of love is palpable in every single scene of this film, which carries a uniquely electrifying energy that never lags. Every time I thought the film might zig it zagged, and not necessarily in terms of plot (though the writing by Drew Pearce is fine) but in terms of style and tone. Here we have a rambunctious mix of humor, romance, mystery, crime, and of course action but never in the expected manner. Each set piece gets bigger and more elaborate, whether it's an insane ride in a dump truck through urban streets and a dog that bites crotches or an emotionally fraught slow chase between speedboats in a marina, and all are executed with obvious care and good awareness for its audience's patience.

The plot is easy enough to follow with a few arguably unnecessary complications, so we won't recount it here. Gosling himself carries the movie with the kind of '80s panache of Harrison Ford, Mel Gibson, or Sylvester Stallone, and he's magnetic on screen. Emily Blunt isn't given a whole lot to do, but she performs reliably and shines in the first act, and again in the finale, well after her shoehorned karaoke scene (which isn't her fault, it's just an annoying trope of rom-coms that can be put to bed now, thank you very much). With their leading power, The Fall Guy reminds us that sometimes, and only really in movies like this, star power can be both the saving grace of a picture and completely earned by the performer. Effortlessly funny and sexy at the same time, Gosling's swagger isn't just his brand; he also acts his face off here, bringing his sizable filmography in indie dramas to bear on a film that he certainly could have just shown up to glide through.

The supporting cast are all excellent but shockingly understated. In a film where style arguably supersedes substance, it's telling that nobody is really hamming it up like they could. Everyone is grounded in a refreshing way. Key to this is Aaron Taylor-Johnson, playing the big movie star for whom Gosling is meant to double in stunts. While he consciously references other big stars like Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt in his mannerisms and delivery (even his voice feels stolen from Matthew McConaughey), he's not making fun of any of them or even really trying to pull focus; he's just reminding us of the reality of leading men we know and demonstrating the separation of expectation versus production process. It's carefully calibrated and really smart. Similarly, the film-within-the-film that acts as the plot's mobilizing entity always has its trusty producer Gail at hand, and Hannah Waddingham (in a shocking dark wig) comes the closest to a full camp performance without really stepping over that line. Always with a bag on her arm, a drink in her hand, and a plastered grin on her face -- always somewhat masked by hair or glasses -- she moves through the world of the film in a more diminished capacity that we're used to seeing from her, which has the added effect of making her less predictable and more interesting.

The rest of the cast is fine, though I'd like to have seen more for Winston Duke and Stephanie Hsu to do. A great soundtrack of period-appropriate music keeps things moving when the plot threatens to slack. The behind-the-scenes of the movie industry on display could have been featured more, and frankly the organized crime plot was overbaked to a point of distraction. But it allows for some truly eye-popping stunt work which is what the film is really all about anyway. A love letter to the guys on set with their thumbs up as they risk their bodies and lives, The Fall Guy feels as much a gift to modern audiences annoyed with CGI-laden three-hour features that take themselves too seriously as it does to its own industry as anxieties about AI and deepfakes reach a boiling point. It's a great way to start the summer blockbuster season.

Everything Everywhere All at Once (2022)

Score: 4.5 / 5

The most aggressively weird movie in a long time, the latest from Daniels is a doozy. It begins as one thing, shifts into something wildly different, and by the halfway point is unrecognizable as a coherent film. And then, by the end, I found myself so awash in feelings and sensations I've never felt in a film before that I stood with my friend outside the cinema and we just giggled and cried and kept shrugging our shoulders because we just couldn't figure out what we were feeling. Everything Everywhere All at Once is, I promise you, not like you might expect. No summary or synopsis can do it justice. I'm not even sure watching it can do it justice. Think of it like an SNL skit -- about everything and about nothing at the same time, so specific and so absurd at once -- pulled into a two-and-a-half-hour arthouse genre flick. Then you'll start to grasp what's really going on here. Maybe.

It begins with the sardonic wit of reality, as first-generation immigrant Evelyn Wang (Michelle Yeoh) struggles to keep her laundromat afloat. They are under audit by the IRS after having incorrectly filed taxes, and her husband Waymond is passively trying to serve her divorce papers; her daughter Joy is pushing for her family to accept her girlfriend, and her typically patriarchal father Gong Gong has recently arrived for a visit from China. Evelyn's life is a bit chaotic at the moment, and it only gets worse when they visit their auditor, Dierdre Beaubeirdre (a hilarious Jamie Lee Curtis). I wondered how long the movie would dwell on this; its tone suggests something a bit more commercially approachable than David Foster Wallace's The Pale King but with the same sour humor. 

It doesn't last long here, as shortly after arriving at their appointment, Waymond is seemingly possessed by a Waymond from another universe. He tells a fantastic story about the other universes, all of which are parallel, and all of which are now in jeopardy because the daughter Joy from his universe has created a black hole, possibly out of spite. It's up to Evelyn to save everyone. But she doesn't have the time or the desire to help. The hilarity of her situation is rather short-lived, at first, because the evil Joy's minions appear and start attacking. Evelyn must "hop" between universes to learn skills and knowledge from alternate Evelyns to fight back. Thankfully she can draw on an Evelyn who excels at mixed martial arts and even an Evelyn with long slappy noodle hands; with all these extra experiences and abilities, she gets spinning a lot, questioning what she thought she knew about her life, the possible lives she could have led, and the value of her family relationships.

As we hop between universes, I was pleased to note that the film is utterly original in its exploration of the multiverse, at a time when this will be the dominant sci-fi trope and will surely be beaten to death by the MCU and DCEU. It is original, that is, even while actively and hilariously nodding at other films and franchises. For example, there is an alternative universe modeled off Ratatouille, ones like The Matrix, even one uncannily like 2001: A Space Odyssey. In one, Evelyn is a movie star earning awards and fame; in one she is a rock watching a wasteland. Even the real world -- most of which takes place in an IRS building -- becomes a strange place in which enemies fight with kung fu and moves out of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon or even, yes, Shang-Chi. The cubicles become an endless hallway of doldrums that contain an endless supply of bizarre weapons, culminating in usage of an "auditor of the year" award becoming a butt plug. The cinematography and editing change with each universe; sometimes even the aspect ratio changes. The film handles its internal chaos beautifully so that even as things exceeded my conscious comprehension, I could follow its emotional lines through to their payoffs. I'd like to revisit the film sometime, or at least read its screenplay, to appreciate and understand it better. I know I missed significant portions of dialogue as I held my splitting sides.

Michelle Yeoh is amazing, and I teared up more than once watching her masterfully guide the film to its sticking places. Her action-movie prowess is always stunning, but here we can really see what she does with a feature-length feature that very much relies on her role to convey human experience. And she delivers all of them plus some! Using dry wit and biting humor she embraces the comedic aspects even as she uses almost imperceptible facial muscles to convey entire manifestos with a single look. Her talent shines on the top tier, and this is the kind of movie that will help people recognize her brilliance.

No less amazing is Stephanie Hsu, who plays Joy, a role I initially thought little of but who I think probably carries equal emotional weight in the film. Joy's thematic locus rests on an otherwise undefined but strongly emphasized generational and cultural divide between Evelyn, her father, and her offspring. Joy's queerness and feminism are foreign to Evelyn, who feels growing disappointment that Joy isn't embracing the opportunities Evelyn's hard work has made possible. Similarly, Evelyn's lifestyle and values are a far cry from her father's (who is played by the wonderfully voiced James Hong), and these restive tensions come to a head when the black hole -- spoiler alert: it's an everything bagel -- spirals its way into our universe. Thankfully, according to the film's apparent logic, the destructive void of generational disconnect and regret and disappointment can be ended when we choose to love and accept and learn from each other, especially those of us in different generations. I'm not sure if that's the main message of this film, or really a valid one, but it's the one that stuck out to me after a single viewing and I'm running with it for now.

Come for Michelle Yeoh. Stay for the chaos. Enjoy the novelty and beauty and hilarity and weirdness along the way. It's a unique and fabulous experience for your senses.