The Lego Movie

I’m gonna make this quick.

It has a certain kind of surreal, erratic brilliance and sardonic, self-referential humor that’s consistently inventive and appropriate...but it’s also the most relentlessly hyperactive bombardment of sounds and images I think I’ve ever experienced in cinematic form. I feel like someone dropped a toy store on me, then spent the next hour and a half smashing everything in the place onto my head. 

Let’s talk pacing, and timing: everything happens with such blinding speed and reckless agility I had almost no idea what was actually happening moment to moment. Literally could not follow the action. It shot past my eyes like the Road Runner on amphetamines during the Big Bang. Most of the movie appears to be playing on fast forward. Good golly, what an onslaught. I feel like my brain swallowed a Lite Brite getting a power surge.

It’d be easy to see this movie as nothing more than a giant commercial, but I don’t. It’s about imagination and creativity and playing and having fun and tacos, all of which I support. Everything is awesome. It’s just way, WAY too much at once. Ease up, Lego. There’s time enough for all of it.

I need a nap.

Saving Mr. Banks

I must start this by saying: I don’t care about or have much interest in Mary Poppins or Walt Disney, but since this movie is about those things only on one level, and does in fact have a much deeper emotional intent, there is certainly something in the film for me to respond to and write about.

I read the screenplay a while ago, because I like to read whatever produced scripts I can get my eyes on, and I didn’t think it worked. It had charm and style and humor, sure, just like the movie does - it’s well-written in that respect - but the same issues I encountered in the text show up on film.

One thing I advise screenwriters not to do, in the course of my coverage and feedback, is employ clichés, and a particular form of which I find rather grating is the interruption of a conversation for the purpose of having one character correct another in how to address them. This usually takes the form of things like “Don’t call me Mr. Smith, that was my father, call me Bob” or just a flat out “Bob, please” which is always followed by the other person saying “Bob” before continuing. Ugh. Please spare me these exchanges.

This movie and screenplay are made up of so many moments of this precise nature it is practically the entire premise.

Seriously, it’s that pervasive. People repeatedly call her Pam or Pamela no matter how many times she says Mrs. Travers. Not only does it slow down the story by constantly interrupting what could be meaningful dialogue for supposedly cute little moments that are merely aggravating, but it makes it look like none of these people are able to listen to or comprehend even the tiniest little thing being said to or asked of them. If someone says don’t call me that, call me this, you do it! It ain’t difficult. What kind of a person is such an ignorant jerk they constantly refer to someone in a manner they have been expressly and repeatedly informed not to? Most of the characters in this movie, that’s who. I just don’t get it. I don’t know who thinks this is entertaining, or a valid form of conflict. It’s just stupid.

All right. Rant ended.

As for the story itself, the other major issue I had with both script and film is the lack of clear motivation for some of the other major actions the characters take or avoid, in order to maintain an obvious conflict. Her father’s drinking, for example. I understand some people have addictions and can’t stop themselves, but why does he continue such destruction when he knows and sees what it’s doing to himself and his family? The story doesn’t address that, or ask why he doesn’t address it. The story simply watches him fall without giving him enough cause to stumble.

Then there’s the point at which she rejects everything due to the planned use of animated penguins, as that’s the moment in the plot when it needs to take a downturn, because it’s just taken an upturn when she approved the song about flying a kite. There’s nothing wrong with the change in tone, it’s wholly appropriate and perfectly timed, the problem is the method by which the movie shifts its weight. They make it seem like Walt tricked her, or at least that she felt tricked, in that she believed there would be absolutely no animation whatsoever when all he said is that the film would not be animated, it would be live action. Nobody lied, nobody deceived. But the movie needs this moment so it does whatever it can, using the ol’ innocent misunderstanding. It could have been done better.

A lot of the rest of the conflict mostly comes from her not telling the writers what she wants, just saying everything is wrong and walking away. They also rarely seem to attempt to explain what they’re going for, they just shrivel at her harsh tone and move on. As a screenwriter who often works for others in order to produce their vision, I respect and appreciate that aspect of this movie, in that a group of people are doing their creative best to please someone who seems to disagree with everything, or simply doesn’t know what she wants them to achieve. But when it plays as though she refuses to cooperate, how am I supposed to empathize with her? I get that she doesn’t want what’s close to her heart to be tarnished, but one has to communicate effectively in order to precipitate successful adaptation. If you don’t try, you just get nothing.

Past all these issues, the movie is decidedly better than the screenplay, largely due to the fabulous cast - especially Paul Giamatti, who does so much with so little and makes it looks effortless - and of course I love the message that storytellers instill hope, that we restore order with imagination. I can’t help but be moved by these small moments, as being coldly insensitive is not something I’m capable of, but the movie as a whole is held back by its repeated and frustrating lack of progress.

Eventually the triumph of art and creativity does free the movie of its drawbacks, somehow managing to outshine the disappointing aftertaste of so much halting, faltering energy.

If only it made me want to watch Mary Poppins...now that would have been some kind of magic.

The Grand Budapest Hotel

There are some filmmakers so exceptionally talented in putting a movie together that each project they complete is met with a great deal of reverent anticipation and attention which cannot be overeffusive, because these artists are simply that good at what they do. Wes Anderson’s Grand Budapest Hotel is one of these events, utterly extraordinary in its creation - the incredibly beautiful and detailed visual design, terrific editing, perfectly nuanced music, with his usual cast and their uniquely crafted characters…

So why was I bored off my ass?

Literally. Off my ass. I tried watching it sitting up and had to lie down. It tired me out just trying to maintain attention.

Okay, so a certain medical condition might have (does, did) contribute to that exhaustion, but still...I love movies, and this one is so amazingly executed, it should have absolutely fascinated me, in any posture or position. It didn’t. Why not?

Because Wes Anderson has failed to entertain me for quite a while now. Several films in a row. The last one I felt something for, and still do, is The Royal Tenenbaums. And I don’t have to ask why, because I know why: it was about its characters. No reveling in silliness and style for the sake of them, but a good solid look at who these people are and how they relate to each other. It’s smart, funny, thoughtful, moving...he hasn’t done that since. Maybe a few interesting moments here and there, but nothing he’s brought forth - Life Aquatic, Darjeeling, Fox, Moonrise - has reached those heights of dramatic integrity. They’ve all been rather dull, in my experience, while still achieving that admirable level of artistic presentation.

It all comes down to story. What’s it really all about? With Tenenbaums, it’s about the Tenenbaums. People. Personalities. There’s interest there, human interest.

Grand Budapest Hotel is about...well, I don’t know. It isn’t even about the hotel; most of the scenes take place elsewhere. It certainly isn’t about the people in the hotel. It spends the first ten minutes with one person saying how he’s going to tell a story about himself being told a story by a guy who’s telling someone else’s story...ten minutes of “Hey, listen to this.” Not very interesting.

As for everything else that happens, there’s a kind of jaunty fun to it all, sure, but it’s meaningless. It isn’t about anything, there’s no human condition, it’s just activity. No heart.

And who can love art without heart?

Jack The Giant Slayer: A Feminist Rant

And that’s the angle I intend to adhere to. I could spend time discussing how poorly structured and silly the movie is, be baffled by its proliferation of ridiculous plotting and silly clichés, ponder why it sat completed on the shelf for a while without a release date, decry the career of director Bryan Singer post Usual Suspects...but none of that is as important as how wrong the film is in regards to its depiction of female characters. So that’s where we’re going with this.

Let’s start with the Bechdel test. If you’re not familiar, check the link. Oddly enough, this one passes - technically. There is one scene with two female characters who talk about what it’s like to be queen. One of them is the queen, who doesn’t appear again, and the other is her daughter Isabel, the princess, who is an adult the rest of the movie and the only other female character. So, yeah. Big win.

Here’s what happens to Isabel, major character that she is: Jack, of the title, meets Isabel when he saves her from being accosted (raped) by uncouth commoners...because that’s what people do, in movies, as a form of conflict meant to be entertaining. She is soon revealed as a princess who doesn’t want to get married, since it’s gotta be that way and the concept has never been done before, plus she totally does her own thing despite the objections of her many male authority figures. Her father the king does eventually reach the inevitable and sad conclusion that she’s her own person and he can’t control her life, because he’s gotta have an arc - but of course the movie itself doesn’t actually figure this out. The movie itself controls her every step of the way.

Anyway, after she’s taken off from the protection of her castle - alone, again, of course, dumb broad that she is - she gets caught in a rainstorm, seeks shelter at what happens to be Jack’s home, then a magic beanstalk traps her inside. Instead of doing something about it, she screams for Jack to rescue her, but he doesn’t manage to and oh no, she disappears into the sky with the house...similarly disappearing from the story while so many menfolk climb up to find and save her. Seriously, she doesn’t show up again on screen for quite a while.

These brave menfolk - while searching for her during their scenes of valor as her current predicament remains an unknown, unseen subplot - mention her being smart and resourceful. However, she still manages to do nothing but be captured and held until the guys show up to free her, after which she whines about how this is all her fault and how useless she is; how useless princesses are in general. But all it takes is a bit of sweet talk from farm boy Jack to convince her she’s a good person with lots of potential. Hooray!

Not long after this inspirational moment, Isabel the smart and resourceful hides and watches as her two main fellows sneak up on a giant guarding an exit, carrying out their plan they came up with that she had nothing to do with and most certainly couldn’t have thought of because even though she’s an intelligent person with competent ideas and innovative strategy when people are talking about her while she’s not around, when she is around she’s just a girl and is best suited to looking concerned while the dudes do all the dangerous deeds.

Pretty soon thereafter, while riding a collapsing beanstalk to the ground, she holds onto Jack instead of the stalk...she even says “Jack, hold me!” while being all scared. Typical girly behavior, I know...it’s just their nature. Such femininity means she’s simply not up to the stress of being actively involved, and proves it once again toward the end when she and Jack are chased by the baddest bad guy giant, leaving Jack to conceive and execute the actions which save them. ‘Cause he’s the man, and it’s not like she could be of any real use to him.

So all this is really stupid and offensive and thoughtless and a hugely unfortunate part of the culture of general entertainment, but there’s one thing about the finale that really bugs the shit outta me: the plot of this movie involves the creation and use of a crown which has the power to control the giants in some way. This crown was forged by some long-ago king who defeated and banished the giants, and Isabel is his direct descendant. This means, once Jack has killed the major villain, and all the other people are still fighting all the other giants, the conclusion of the battle is for someone to put on the crown and banish the bad guys all over again. So guess who shows up wearing it? The one with the freakin’ birthright to do so? Nope. Jack the giant slayer. It’s his movie, right? 

What really makes it bad is how the giants are seen cutting short their attack, and bowing down, and all the people turn to see who saved them - which would have been a great time for them to see the princess, who hadn’t done anything for herself or her people up to this point, now saving them all, so they’d have some respect for her for reasons other than simply being born into royalty. But no, we are shown the crown, glinting in the sun, then Jack holding it, then he puts it on his head while all the kingdom’s subjects who don’t have the slightest clue who he is watch him save their pathetic little lives as the beautiful princess looks on adoringly and holds his hand. What a stud. As for Isabel, after all the hubbub, she gets to marry Jack and have babies, finally, because that’s all chicks really want anyway.

This is the truly hazardous pervasiveness of misogyny: when it isn’t overt, when it isn’t deliberately offensive or degrading, when it most likely isn’t even intentional. It’s become such an ingrained manner of storytelling that it can easily go unnoticed. And it shouldn’t. That’s why I’m trying to bring it to everyone’s attention. We gotta stop this shit. It isn’t doing anybody any good.