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I haven’t seen The Princess and the Frog yet, but I’m on the lookout for opinions from thoughtful critics. Check back, for I’ll post them as I find them.

Steven D. Greydanus, National Register:

The Princess and the Frog is the first real classic Disney of the 21st century.

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None of the studio’s cartoons of the last 15 years or so has had both feet firmly in the tradition represented by golden-age masterpieces like Sleeping Beauty and Snow White as well as “silver age” classics like Beauty and the Beast. The Princess and the Frog may not be in the same league as those gems, but it’s the first Disney film since The Lion King that feels like a real heir to this tradition.

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At the same time, The Princess and the Frog isn’t just a throwback to the Disney renaissance. This is Disney for a new generation.
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There’s a villain with magical powers — but instead of Disneyfied magic, like Aladdin’s friendly genie, the film’s New Orleans voodoo is an occult world of terrifying powers and principalities in which the villain himself is at much at risk as anyone. It’s almost Disney’s most overtly Christian depiction of magic and evil since Sleeping Beauty — though the waters are muddied by a benevolent, swamp-dwelling hoodoo mama in a sort of fairy-godmother role.

Drew McWeeny, HitFix:

… a word that I’d use to describe most of the major creative choices made on the film: nuance. The classic Disney archetypes are represented in the supporting cast, but given new and subtle spins, and none moreso than the Princess itself. Tiana, as voiced by Anika Noni Rose, is one of the most appealing role models of any Disney Princess, and Prince Naveen, voiced by Bruno Campos, has way more to do than most of the traditional Princes in Disney’s past.

It’s only fair if I’m going to talk about my problems with the way Bella Swan is written in the “Twilight” films, and specifically my concerns about her as a role model, that I also look at how I think this film approaches its responsibility to the younger viewers who are going to see it. The reason it’s more important to do this with girl-themed films is precisely because of the way the media talks to girls overall. The media sends very different gender messages, and little boys are serviced in totally different ways than little girls. I am troubled by the way little boys are fed messages about violence and its consequences just as much as I’m troubled by the way little girls are indoctrinated to their roles as secondary people, defined entirely by their men. And when you add the potential complication of dealing with race in a more direct way than Disney’s used to… well, you see what I mean about pressure.

“The Princess and The Frog” pretty much nails it in terms of both gender politics and race, and it does it casually, without making any of it central to what you’re watching.

Kirk Honeycutt, Hollywood Reporter:

The narrative behind “The Princess and the Frog” is that Walt Disney Animation has rediscovered its traditional hand-drawn animation, which has been supplanted by computer-generated cartoons. But this misses the point about what allowed Pixar — which Disney now owns — DreamWorks and other CG-animation companies to upstage the one-time king of the animation world. It’s a thing called story.

So “Princess and the Frog” really marks Disney’s rediscovery of a strong narrative loaded with vibrant characters and mind-bending, hilarious situations. Under the direction of veterans Ron Clements and John Musker (the team behind “The Little Mermaid” and “Aladdin”) and the watchful eye of Pixar guru John Lasseter, now chief creative officer of Disney Animation, “Princess and the Frog” celebrates old and new: It’s a musical fairy tale that dates back to the days when Walt Disney was a person, not a brand. Yet it deftly mingles with the new sensibilities in animation where fairy tales must get fractured, settings must be fresh and humor pitched to many age levels.

Check, check and double check.

This is the best Disney animated film in years. Audiences — who don’t care whether it’s cel animation, CGI, stop motion, claymation or motion capture as long as it’s a good story — will respond in large numbers. A joyous holiday season is about to begin for Disney. . . .

“Bones” is a TV show I rather enjoy for the clever banter, the amusing actors, the slick effects, and the humor, But last night’s episode was sickening. (more…)

I’m not allowed to post my review of this film before its release date, due to studio policies.

So I’ll wait. In the meantime, here are some reviews that have been online for a while now…

1.

Amiable and innocuous, Up in the Air offers a disingenuously smooth flight over choppy waters and rugged terrain. … Up in the Air is neither funny enough to be a straight comedy nor serious enough to be a telling drama about the human toll wrought by economic crisis. Instead, the film is merely a pseudo-redemption saga that’s pleasant enough in the moment but – despite numerous sequences of laid-off individuals railing in close-up at Ryan about their unjust fate – maintains considerable distance from actually plumbing the raw emotions of its central subject.

2.

It’s bad enough that [Reitman] has a depressingly pedestrian visual sense and relies too heavily on strummy musical montages — his films also purport to sum up, and half-assedly at that, The Times in Which We Live.

3.

…a star’s vanity vehicle masquerading as a searching project. As he grows older, Clooney seems to allow traces of anxiety to peek from behind his smirk, maybe even hints of William Holden-like bastardry to come. So far, however, his willingness to play successful men nauseated by their moral quandaries has been undercut by a weakness for cute playing and facile redemption, as if he were afraid that revealing the panic under his grizzled handsomeness might cost him his fanbase of swooning housewives.

It’s a weakness in synch with Reitman, who, after the slapdash cynicism of Thank You for Smoking and the alt-weekly snark of Juno, has settled for an anonymous sort of polish. Up in the Air isn’t without its behavioral charms, especially in the sexy, relaxed rapport struck between Clooney and a for-once-not-jittery Farmiga. It’s a smooth ride, which is precisely the problem in a film proposing to examine a hollow character’s malaise. Nobody gets offended, nothing gets questioned, the crowd goes home properly cheered. Expect a cartload of Oscars.

4.

Up in the Air … has no double or hidden meanings, and precious little is left unsaid through dialog or via voiceover. … it doesn’t require the viewer to do work or ask questions, and barring a single scene in which Alex and Natalie have a loaded conversation about romantic ideals as Ryan silently listens on, nothing is left open for interpretation –– what you see is what you get. In other words, Jason Reitman does what Hollywood filmmakers are supposed to do. They are supposed to tell stories in the most straightforward manner possible; they are supposed to make their choices seem invisible to the casual viewer so that the stars pop and the Big Emotional Moments sing. That Reitman is perceived after this trifecta as being anything like an auteur in the contemporary sense of the word is remarkable.

Spotted with snippets of mock exit interviews with real recently laid-off Americans, Up in the Air tries hard to embody this moment of national melancholy, but Reitman reveals his hand by setting the opening credits to a light blues cover of “This Land is Your Land.” The song, and the film, are pure American schmaltz jazzed up, its inherent brightness tinted blue but never significantly darkened. Up in the Air is the kind of feel-good film about bad news that has been winning Oscars for decades. Like its opening song, we’ve heard Up in the Air’s tune so many times that it no longer means anything.

And that’s why The National Board of Review have just named it the Best Picture of 2009!

[Updated: Okay, I've had my coffee. I've calmed down. I've corrected the post.]

My heart rate is elevated, and my fingers are fumbling across the keyboard in my excitement.

My favorite American filmmaker is working with one of my favorite American actors, and the film looks like just the thing to stir up an exciting conversation.

(more…)

A review by Jeffrey Overstreet. This review was originally published at Good Letters, the blog hosted by Image.

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Writer – produced and directed by Joel Coen and Ethan Coen; director of photography – Roger Deakins; editor – Roderick Jaynes; music – Carter Burwell; production designer – Jess Gonchor. Starring – Michael Stuhlbarg (Larry Gopnik), Richard Kind (Uncle Arthur), Fred Melamed (Sy Ableman), Sari Lennick (Judith Gopnik), Adam Arkin (Divorce Lawyer), Aaron Wolff (Danny Gopnik), Jessica McManus (Sarah Gopnik), David Kang (Clive Park) and Fyvush Finkel (Dybbuk?). Focus Features. 1 hour 45 minutes.

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There’s an envelope full of cash on Larry Gopnik’s desk.

He didn’t put it there. But he can guess who did. A student in Larry’s physics class has been begging him for a good grade. This money looks like a bribe. Nevertheless, when Larry goes seeking a confession, he’s given a confounding answer….

“Accept the mystery!”

Larry is a play-by-the-rules kind of guy. He cares about precise measurements; he knows the exact position of the property line around his suburban Minnesota home. He cares about fairness; he believes his college should grant him tenure. When he discovers that Mrs. Samsky, his sexy neighbor, sunbathes nude in her yard, he shows more restraint than King David ever did. He stays where he belongs.

Everyone else may live lawlessly, but Larry’s trying to be “a good man.” He’s determined to refuse the mystery money.

So you’d think that God would smile on Larry for his righteousness, and give him a blessing.

But no, blessings elude Larry at every turn. Somebody’s writing anonymous letters to the tenure review board, trying to tarnish his reputation. The Columbia Music Company is billing him for albums he didn’t order. His son is twenty dollars in debt to the schoolyard bully, and his daughter’s a thief.

Arthur, Larry’s brother, is camped on the living room couch like a curse. When he’s not scribbling numbers in a notebook he calls “The Mentaculus,” he’s tending to a sebaceous cyst that oozes like the ears of Madman Mundt in Barton Fink. (Is Arthur a dybbuk, like the malevolent phantom in the Jewish folk tale that serves as the movie’s prologue?)

Worst of all, Larry’s wife Judith is having an affair with their windbag of a neighbor, Sy Abelman. And Sy’s gestures of condescending sympathy for Larry are somehow more infuriating than the affair itself.

If this were a typical Hollywood comedy, we’d know what was coming: flimsy platitudes about the power of positive thinking, or about some kind of generic “faith” (probably faith in oneself).

Instead, this is a film by the Coen Brothers. Only the naïve will anticipate a happy ending. Don’t get me wrong—A Serious Man is several barrels full of laughs. But it’s as serious-minded about suffering and misfortune as any film I’ve seen, including the classic Vittorio de Sica film, Bicycle Thieves.

In Bicycle Thieves, Antonio Ricci—unemployed for two years and desperate to feed his family—finally gets a job. But it requires a bicycle, so he and his wife sell their bedsheets to pay for one. Things are looking up… until that bicycle is stolen on his very first day at work.

Throughout the rest of the movie, Antonio hunts the thief. He’s right to be upset. But watch what happens as he becomes increasingly desperate for justice. While the poor gather for Mass, Antonio never pauses to look heavenward for mercy. Instead, he takes more reckless measures, eventually behaving worse than the thief.

By contrast, the Coens’ persecuted family man takes time to seek spiritual counsel. Surely one of the community rabbis can justify the ways of God to Larry.

But the rabbis are little help. One tells him to look on the bright side. Another tells him a confounding tale about signs and wonders that have no explanation. And the legendary Marshak? He has more important matters on his mind.

Just as Antonio is reduced to wicked behavior, so we begin to see cracks in Larry’s character. He may be inviting catastrophe by way of a crime that Coen Brothers fans have seen before—passivity. The troubled title character in The Man Who Wasn’t There would have been sympathetic if he hadn’t been so…pathetic.

First impression: I think A Serious Man is a stronger film than The Man Who Wasn’t There. It’s scripted as efficiently as Fargo, with a rumble of impending doom that recalls No Country for Old Men. As in Barton Fink, men who proclaim virtuous ideals end up compromising. As in so many Coen films, money brings out the worst in seemingly decent people.

But A Serious Man is distinct in the Coen canon for its aggressive theological inquiry. They know this territory—they’ve talked about growing up in a community similar to Larry’s, where they received some kind of religious instruction six days a week. Their storytelling shows that they’ve considered the various rationalizations we construct in order to cope with hardship. And they see common flaws in those structures—hypocrisy and self-interest.

We demand justice, but when justice turns its harsh gaze upon us, we beg for grace. On his deathbed, the atheist W.C. Fields worriedly sifted the Scriptures “lookin’ for a loophole.” We want a program that’s blind to our sins, brings justice to others, and makes everything right—that is, working everything to our advantage.

Larry’s brother Arthur may manipulate the numbers to win at gambling, but his choices add up to judgment. As Larry whines, “I’ve tried to be a serious man. I’ve tried to do right,” we know that his righteousness—whatever its measure—is not a shield against calamity.

So, if the law cannot save us, what’s left? Lawlessness? A Serious Man occurs as the Summer of Love is heating up, but the promiscuous pothead Mrs. Samsky does not make these “new freedoms” seem very promising. Like The Big Lebowski’s nihilists, those who “believe in nothing” look like buffoons.

Is there any glimpse of hope or grace in the Coens’ vision?

Maybe.

They seem too sharp to miss the profound irony of their own fleeting joke near the end of the film. During a bar mitzvah, a rabbi lifts the Torah scroll. But his arms are trembling at the weight of the law. As the burden becomes too much, he loses his balance and utters an exasperated wheeze: “Jesus Christ!”

Did the Coens recognize the possible significance of that punchline?

I don’t know. For now, I’ll accept the mystery.

Run for your lives! It’s…

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