Lilo & Stitch (2025)

Score: 4 / 5

Of the live-action remakes of Disney films, Lilo & Stitch was not an expected one, if only due to its comparatively recent original. The runaway 2002 hit has certainly made its mark on fan culture; Stitch is ubiquitous in any Disney store or park. And though the original film has its downsides -- after a truly magical first hour or so, it devolves into mindless chases that eschew the smarts setting it up -- it clearly inspired a generation with several sequels and multiple television series. Dean Fleischer Camp's new film effectively captures the magic of the original, making it more grounded and less frenetic, providing more of what made it memorable and less of what made it irritating for an audience perhaps older than its target.

Clearly offering fan service, at least for those in the know, the film's cast includes returning members who voiced the original Nani, David, and others. Chris Sanders himself returns, not as writer or director, but as Stitch's iconic voice; perhaps an unpopular take, but I have always liked Stitch better when he does not use actual words, relying instead on loose mimicry and vulgar vocalizations. And, of course, we get more Elvis music. To add to the pleasant melange, we get stunning photography in Hawaii and while surfing, sincere and compelling emotional performances from excellent actors, earnest and earned sentimentality with updated themes (more on this presently), and its signature chaotic comedy, often slapstick in form. 

Though there aren't many changes to the plot, a few should be mentioned and considered here. Gantu, the giant hunter tasked with apprehending the runaway Stitch, is wholly absent here, and I personally found that choice brilliant. We already have Jumba and Pleakley chasing him, and we don't need more chaos on that front, and an enormous gray alien stalking around would subtract from the live-action premise of this film. To that point, I also found the switch from the heavy CGI in the film's inciting scene to live action when Stitch makes landfall as welcome and exciting as the flip in Enchanted, or, to be frank, in The Wizard of Oz. Cold and dark animation in space among aliens is fine, but the refreshing color and light and tactile pleasures of Kauai (actually, I think it was mostly filmed on Oahu?) feel revelatory. Additionally, Jumba and Pleakley are a delight here, brought to hilarious life by a morose Zach Galifinakis and a sweetly naive Billy Magnussen; some will decry the lack of drag in Pleakley's human presentation, but I'm not sure there was going to be a controversy-less decision on that front. Would it be better for bad drag, as in the animated original, in an era of fears around men in dresses (which are statistically unfounded, to be clear)? Could Magnussen and his designers have pulled off good drag, and what might that have felt like to genderqueer and drag performers in the biz?

Lilo Pelekai herself is charming and less monstrous than in the original, which could incite anger from fans who need her to be as "bad" as her adopted alien pet. Newcomer Maia Kealoha imbues Lilo with a believable sense of lonely duckling syndrome (there is nothing ugly about the beautiful child, which I think helps explain the mysterious lack of attention to the "ugly duckling" motif in the original), and her drifting identity here is slightly less eccentric, which helps us love her more. That said, I did miss her iconic moment in the original of attempting voodoo against her bullies with frog legs and pickle brine. Most importantly, this is arguably a film more about Nani than the original, and she gets hers and then some. Sydney Elizabeth Agudong is a fully-realized young woman here, not just a capable caretaker for her sister but an ambitious and eager professional whose career and entire life have been stymied by the loss of their parents. Many audiences are upset by the film's denouement, which dramatically changes Nani's arc (don't worry, I won't spoil it here), but I found it significantly more feminist and realistic than the original, and it palpably reinforces the entire franchise's primary theme of the virtues of found family.

Building on that point, for those of you in the know, we also get a new character who rounds out the realism and comfort of the film's melodrama in Amy Hill as Tutu, David's grandmother and the Pelekais' longtime neighbor. David himself (Kaipo Dudoit) is charming and winsome, and together, they provide much-needed thematic warmth to this film. Hannah Waddingham doesn't have much to do, but her stilted inflection as the alien Grand Councilwoman is fabulous. Oh, and Courtney B. Vance is a delicious Cobra Bubbles, and that's all I'll say about that. There's a new social worker from a significant actress, and a few cool updates to the source material, and it's all really lovely in emphasizing the "found family" aspect of ohana, especially as Lilo (and, by extension, the audience) learns what caretaking fully requires. And under this director's thoughtful and humble guidance, this movie generously provides exactly what I hoped for in a remake of this material: faithfulness in all aspects with a few intentional and measured deviations for increased emotional and aesthetic impact.

A Wrinkle in Time (2018)

Score: 4 / 5

I don't know why this movie's getting so much crap. It's beautiful.

Disney's latest reclaiming of old territory tackles Madeleine L'Engle's sci-fi fantasy A Wrinkle in Time, a work of profound weirdness and abstraction. While critics and audiences seem intent on proclaiming the weirdness of this film, the excessive style over substance, and some sizeable plotholes, I'd argue the same things about the source material. It's a children's fantasy, for goodness' sake. In fact, compared with Lewis or Carroll or even Rowling, I'd argue that L'Engle's fantasy is notably inferior in style, scope, and detail. So before you hear any more criticisms about these elements, question the critic: Do they really know what they're talking about? And do you care?

While this new film is indeed a victory of style over substance, that totally fits its messages of beauty and empowerment. Its trippy visuals and fabulous interplay of light and darkness feel more like the book than any amount of world-building details might. More importantly, its beauty is found in its casting and design aspects. The characters quietly reveal themselves as the most diverse group I've seen from a Disney movie, and even the interracial romance at the center of the story is a total nonissue. This is the future, guys. This is the new normal. And it is glorious.

The three Mrs W (Whatsit, Who, and Which), played by Oprah Winfrey, Mindy Kaling, and Reese Witherspoon are lovely, but it's their costumers and stylists who take the real glory here. Along with the production designers and artists. Everything in this movie is colorful, extravagant, and kinetic. A Wrinkle in Time is pure escapism, pure cinema: magic cooked up on the screen and blasted into your retinas with full force. The music is as soaring as the visuals, the acting pitch-perfect, the cinematography awesome. It's got the splendor of Avatar and the heart of Narnia and a spirit all of its own, fully embracing its own glorious diversity and female empowerment.

Of course, all this praise is not to say that the movie is perfect. Far from it. Its screenplay is mostly clunky and sparse: unfocused and seemingly without real inspiration, its stumbles its way through the story with no grace. Actually, my impression of the film was that Disney spent its resources on visual artists, good actors, and a great director, and then realized they needed some kind of script. They should have just let DuVernay do her thing. Which is to say that it's pretty clear there are significant power struggles here between her visionary vision and the studio's. And it has its weird moments, to be sure. I could have lived a long and happy life without watching Reese Witherspoon turn into a flying head of lettuce. I didn't need Michael Pena falling apart like a marionette. I didn't need Zach Galifianakis at all, especially not in a part that was female in the book. And giant Oprah -- though wonderful to behold -- felt a little unnecessary.

But when a movie can so easily transport you across the galaxy, steal your heart, and leave you breathless in wonder, who cares if it's densely plotted or thickly descriptive? Again, it's a children's fantasy, y'all! Movies like this are what America needs. Honest, sweet, and quietly insinuating its political correctness into mainstream entertainment. So go. Go watch it right now. See it on as big a screen as you can. Watching this movie right now is a political act. Support it. Give in to love and hope and light and all the things this movie champions. "Be a warrior!"

IMDb: A Wrinkle in Time

Tulip Fever (2017)

Score: 3 / 5

Who knew tulips could be so sexy?

They were, at least, in 1634 Amsterdam. Everyone wanted tulips, so their market soared until they, inevitably, crashed. So too with love, apparently, as Tulip Fever paints it. The macrocosm of city commerce during a time of obsession and sacrifice is mirrored by the romantic drama of a small household. Choosing a compelled (not forced or arranged, exactly) marriage over becoming a novice in a nunnery, beautiful, orphaned Sophia (Alicia Vikander) weds and beds wealthy widowed merchant Cornelis Sandvoort (Christoph Waltz). Cornelis desires a child above all, though the two are apparently unable to conceive.

Christoph Waltz starts his role with eccentric flair and strange nuances. Cornelis, obsessed with fathering a child but no less concerned with the happiness of his stoic wife, develops a comical ritual of prayer for fertility, pissing in the chamberpot, and calling his "little soldier" to attention. It's a sad sort of self-deprecation that at first feels disgusting, but over time is endearing; never mind the little moment when he climaxes and refers to cannons firing. We learn over time that he genuinely loves his wife, something Sophia also realizes too late. He's not Ralph Fiennes in The Duchess, and though this film has its fair amount of dark stylizations, it's not a domestic horror picture. Indeed, during the climax as the baby is being born, Sophia sheds a series of single tears, ashamed of her deception and the pain she will soon cause her husband.

Still trusting in their marriage, Cornelis arranges for a portrait to be painted of the two of them, and hires young Jan van Loos (Dane DeHaan). It's a Titanic-style romance that you know won't end well. Without even having met her properly, Jan stares at her during their first sitting, and it's a miracle her husband doesn't catch on. Then again, if Dane DeHaan glared at me that way, I'd probably call the police, but movie logic isn't always a thing. He compulsively paints her, and she seems so pleased I kept expecting her to say something like, "Paint me like one of your Dutch girls, Jan." No such luck. They begin a heated affair, one she disguises with voluminous robes and speedy excursions. Running through the marketplace as she does, it's a wonder no one recognizes her. Jan and Sophie share intimacy that sharply contrasts with her stilted, stunted sex scenes with Cornelis. In fact, a memorable sequences juxtaposes the cold officiousness of the portrait sittings with the hot kineticism of adultery: "You may rest, Mr. Sandvoort," Jan once says, knowing full well that the cuckold isn't doing much else in bed.

At the same time, there's some fire down under in the Sandvoort house. Maria the maid (Holliday Grainger) and the local fishmonger (Jack O'Connell) really turn on the heat in the kitchen until they put a bun in the oven. In order to save Maria's reputation and job -- and her own marriage -- Sophia embarks on a preposterous plan to hide the pregnancy but also to pretend to be pregnant herself. It's a convoluted, totally unbelievable scheme, but everyone involved seems to make it work without a hitch. Even the creepy but ultimately helpful gynecologist Dr. Sorgh (Tom Hollander) manages to convince Cornelis of the proceedings.

I don't want to spoil it for you, but Tulip Fever follows the period-romance template to the letter. In fact, it plays ever so slightly with becoming an erotic dark romance, especially about halfway through when the tulip market inflates and so do the sex organs of our lead players. They scurry around town like rats, hump like rabbits, then return home like angels. Candlelit interiors, heavy wooden hallways, beautifully thick costumes, and lots of staring out windows keep the drama rich if a bit silly. Silly, you ask? You betcha. Tom Stoppard's script (Anna Karenina, Shakespeare in Love, Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead) is thin and confused, trying to do too much at times, and barely doing anything at others. When another fishmonger shows up at Maria's kitchen door offering his wares, he earnestly looks at her and says, "I've got a nice thick eel." Another: Jan tells Sophia, in one post-coital scene, that their plan will work, "All we have to do is put all our eggs in one basket." The movie is filled with howlers like these, effectively ripping us out of the drama of the movie.

They should have kept the humor to a minimum, or at least leave it in capable hands. And no, I don't mean Zach Galifianakis, who shows up for a couple times for some idiotic reason, mostly to proclaim his inability to adopt a convincing accent and become the butt of jokes regarding his alcoholism. I mean someone like Tom Hollander, who steals his scenes, or Dame Judi Dench as the Mother Superior of Sophia's home. The abbess also has her hands in the tulip trade, and her utterly arresting stoicism makes you squirm as she delivers one-liners with bone-dry conviction. Or even Matthew Morrison, who shows up a few times as Jan's dear friend, which prompts me to wonder why Sophia doesn't choose him to have an affair with, because -- well, no explanation necessary.

The film feels narratively busy, helped along by feverish editing that jumps between people and places faster than necessary. Coincidences pile on misdirection, and by the finale I felt that I'd been had by the filmmakers. It began with such promise, we might say, especially with the lush production value (thank you, Weinstein Company!) and casting choices. But all crashes -- much like the tulip trade -- and the impossible climax and implausible denouement, plus a series of false endings, strip away the stylish guise of the film and reveal a cruel trick. Is the story a steamy period romance? A sad melodrama about idiots who get in over their heads? A dry tragicomedy that champions lower class workers?

Does it matter?

IMDb: Tulip Fever

Birdman (2014)

Score: 5 / 5

The obvious frontrunner for this year's award season is also uncommonly good. Too often, it seems, the movie that gets the most hype (for whatever that's worth) is also sentimental or traditional, and sometimes both. A lot of people tend to attach baggage to the Best Picture Oscar, wanting it to be timely or eternal, classic or fresh, comfortable or edgy, and so forth. My main consideration for Best Picture is how state-of-the-art it appears to be: Technically original, aesthetically fresh, pushing boundaries, and (more subjective, obviously) appropriate to popular culture. Birdman is all of these things, and then some.

I know you've heard people raving about how great this film is, and like me, you probably got a bit annoyed partly because nobody is talking about the film's plot. So what is this thing? Michael Keaton plays an actor who is attempting to re-create his career following the success of a series of "Birdman" movies in which he played the titular superhero. Two decades later, he is writing, directing, and starring in a Broadway play that opens soon and is having nothing but trouble taking flight (yes, flight). Besides his dramatic attempts onstage, our protagonist is plagued by conflict in his personal life as well, with his friends (Zach Galifianakis), girlfriend and actress (Andrea Riseborough), ex-wife (Amy Ryan), daughter/employee (Emma Stone), and co-star actor (Edward Norton) and his girlfriend/actress (Naomi Watts).

This all-star cast rocks their individual roles, and intelligently embody the world of the film as its ensemble. This is very "meta" stuff, but our actors fit comfortably into their supporting roles, just as their fictional counterparts maneuver into place around their leading man. Edward Norton and Emma Stone arguably have the most complex characters and perform them with remarkable strength, but truly all the characters (and their actors) are almost stunningly well-written and fully realized. But they aren't the only good things about this movie.

Director/co-writer Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu (Biutiful, Babel, 21 Grams) helms this black comedy with such ingenuity, intelligence, and skill that it is immediately understood as a consummate work of art. For all the themes and motifs we could eke out of this complex film -- from its not insignificant title to its final shot -- Inarritu directs with an eye for beauty and magic. Stunning special effects happen somewhat unexpectedly, as Keaton's character is empowered by the voice of Birdman in his head to move objects with his mind and levitate, and the heavy lighting transforms what we see on screen into a tableau of fantasy and wonder.

It's technically incredible. Besides the awesome lights, Inarritu makes the two-hour film look like a single, continuous shot. It was obviously not filmed that way, but the effect is brilliant: we get a real-time peek into a man's life. When Keaton is alone we see his secret powers, the emotions of his encounters with other people are raw and fresh, and we see his show from casting to opening night as one single episode. Inarritu plays with his own technical approach, then, in that we see many moments separated by time as one shot; in one scene we see magic juxtaposed with the most mundane of daily activities; we see more profound drama offstage than on. Inarritu is making a movie about movies, a film about theatricality, with timely references and modern theatre concerns, replete with magic and mayhem, that ultimately emphasizes the beauty, complexity, and wonder of life. This movie is, literally, everything.

IMDb: Birdman