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.

…

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.

…

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.
…

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. . . .

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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!

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I don’t plan to spend any pennies on The Twilight Saga: New Moon after the living nightmare that was the sneak-preview screening of Twilight.

So I refer you to the critic I trust most. (Check back: More reviews may be linked later.)

Steven Greydanus – Decent Films:

You can see why 14-year-old girls eat this stuff up. That the Edward Effect is no less potent for many of their mothers seems troublesome.

Twilight and New Moon are essentially uncritical celebrations of that overwrought, obsessive passion that is the hallmark of immaturity — passion that wholly subordinates all sense of one’s own identity and elevates the beloved to summum bonum, or even the sole good; passion that leaps as readily to suicidal impulses and fantasies as to longing for union.

And here:

While the Romeo and Juliet references underscore that self-destructive behavior among young lovers is both a perennial fact about human nature and a long-standing motif of romantic drama, Shakespeare at least gives a tragic if not cautionary context to his protagonists’ suicidal tendencies. Romeo and Juliet is also about other things than young love — for example, the family rivalry of the Montagues and Capulets, without which the tragedy would not have occured and which is finally put to rest by the deaths of the lovers. In New Moon, the Edward–Bella–Jacob triangle and the characters’ happiness or unhappiness is all that really matters.

And then there’s the…

Top 20 Unfortunate Lessons Girls Learn From Twilight

My favorite? #12. “Lying to your parents is fine. Lying to your parents while you run away to save your suicidal boyfriend is an extremely good idea that shows your strength and maturity. Also, it is what you must do.”

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If Precious wins Best Picture, don’t you think Gollum should present the award?

Here are some worthwhile reviews of the film. Check back: More reviews may be linked later.

Alissa Wilkinson, Filmwell:

In a landscape where the “inspirational” film is often nothing more than a tearjerky sports movie or a rehashed and often sanitized tale, Precious is moving, and difficult – difficult because it’s a reality we’d like to ignore, about people we might like to judge, in a package we may not be ready to encounter. But it’s well worth your while.

Roger Ebert:

…a great American film that somehow finds an authentic way to move from these beginnings to an inspiring ending.

The film is a tribute to Sidibe’s ability to engage our empathy. Her work is still another demonstration of the mystery of some actors, who evoke feelings in ways beyond words and techniques. She so completely creates the Precious character that you rather wonder if she’s very much like her.

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I’m eager to see Henry Selick’s new film, Coraline.

The reviews will show you why.

Here’s the roundup of reviews at IFC.

And here’s Steven Greydanus:

For stop-motion auteur Selick, Coraline is a technical triumph. Plausibly billed as the most ambitious and sophisticated stop-motion film ever created, Coraline is filmed in stereoscopic 3D (look for a theater offering the 3D experience), with an unprecedented range of complexity and expressive nuance comparable to computer animation.

The characters’ astonishing facial expressiveness is achieved through extensive use of replacement animation, in which a character’s face is not mechanically manipulated from one position to another, but is actually made up of modular components that can be swapped out between frames for, say, a different jawline with a different mouth position, or a different upper head with eyes and brows differently placed. (The Miracle Maker uses the same basic approach, where possible hiding the seams in beards or facial folds; in Coraline the seams have been digitally erased.)

At 100 minutes, Coraline feels a little longer than it needs to, though it’s never boring, and its beguiling world is so lovingly realized that you understand Selick’s reluctance to leave it. With its dark tale of changeling parents and imprisoned souls, Coraline comes closer to the spirit of the traditional European fairy tale than perhaps any other film, animated or otherwise, in recent memory.

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Luc Besson, director of La Femme Nikita and The Fifth Element, co-wrote this action thriller that quickly hit #1 in America.

I haven’t seen it, but here are the reactions of a couple of critics I tend to trust:

Michael Sicisnki:

(CAUTION: His full review contains SPOILERS.)

The action … mostly feels grafted on, maybe juiced up after a bad test screening. The reason, really, that I can’t completely dismiss this formulaic actioner is that Neeson brings a level of gravitas and existential sadness to Taken that is rather surprising. As with a lot of Clint Eastwood pictures (but certainly not remotely in the same class) Taken evinces a seriousness, even a weariness, that provides the best kind of showcase for what are, at base, reactionary values. When exposed to any genuine knowledge gleaned from the real world — for example, the real facts about human trafficking, its connection to larger global immigration issues and its resultant moral and political ambiguities, piffle like Taken evaporates as U.S. vs. the World paranoia, with a dash of French self-indictment thrown in. But as a kind of allegory of its own paranoia, a forbidden father-daughter love story, and a paean to privileges under siege, Taken exhibits a weight that reveals the pain and fear behind an otherwise risible xenophobia.

Steven D. Greydanus:

The scenario of a righteous butt-kicking American hopping the pond to Paris to take on corrupt French officials as well as slimy Balkan gangsters has understandably struck some critics as Europhobic, notwithstanding the Gallic talent behind the camera. That the movie apparently expects audiences to applaud or at least overlook his brutal tactics is jarring to say the least.

Equally problematic is the depiction of the trafficking of sex slaves in what is ultimately a conventional revenge thriller, which ultimately crosses into exploitation. The 2007 film Trade wavered uncertainly between being hard-hitting, socially-aware drama about human trafficking and action-adventure thrills. Taken unambiguously embraces the latter route. That probably makes it a better movie, but also a more objectionable one.

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I’ll be reviewing The Class soon. But for now, let me encourage you to see it as soon as you can. It’s one of two 2009 releases I’ve seen that will probably end up in my Top 10 of 2009 next December.

Here’s a roundup of reviews at IFC Daily.

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What is Film Forum? Well, with so many film reviews published, and so little time to read them all, I make a note of any review that I find particularly thoughtful, persuasive, or worth wrestling.

Be sure to check back, as I’ve only just begun to read reviews of these films, and I’ll add more interesting excerpts as I come across them. Feel free to submit more reviews, or even your own, in the comments below.

(more…)

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I haven’t seen Gran Torino yet.

Normally, I would rush out to see a Clint Eastwood movie. But I’ve been insanely busy the last several weeks, and I’ve had to choose my movies very, very carefully, so I’d be sure to pick a winner. So I started paying attention to what I read.

I must say, I was alarmed when film critic Mike D’Angelo posted this on Twitter:

Never have I seen a film as blatantly stupid as GRAN TORINO taken so seriously by so many non-idiots.

I wasn’t sure whether I should pay attention to a comment like that.

But then, one of my favorite film critics, Michael Sicinski, wrote:

Eastwood’s gentle pacing always lends projects such as these a dignity they barely deserve, and Gran Torino is the worst offender in quite a long time. The script is preposterous.Beyond that, I have nothing to say about this film.

Then, other critics whose perspectives I respect began lining up with reviews or comments that echoed these sentiments. And I must say, Gran Torino was suddenly not quite so high on my must-see list.

Here are a few of those voices:

Victor Morton:

I was impressed — in a sense. I thoroughly enjoyed myself laughing at one of the worst screenplays I’ve ever seen and one of the worst performances by a professional actor … rrrrrrr … I’ve ever seen.

Ron Reed:

If I were running a screenwriting program, and GRAN TORINO was submitted by someone applying for admission, I’d be very excited. “It’s a mess, but I love what the guy’s going for. Tons of potential.” If this script was submitted by someone as their graduating project, I’d flunk them.

I’m fascinated by the same themes that fascinate this guy (and Clint Eastwood) – violence and non-violence, revenge and forgiveness, justice, sacrifice. In fact, with respect to the last on the list, I’d be very surprised if the screenwriter isn’t a Christian.

But the script is so flawed, so amateur in execution, I truly can’t believe it got made without extensive rewrites. Honestly, the whole story it tells is just fine. But the telling of that story has every beginner weakness there is.

Ken Morefield:

Gran Torino is a bad film, yes, but at least it has the decency to be an exquisitely bad film of the type you can enjoy if you can get your head in the right place, see it with a few buddies, and one-up one another in deriding plot holes and predicting developments. (Give your self one point if you correctly predicted Clint would say confession in the second half of the film, two if you correctly predicted it would be in the penultimate scene, and three if at the appropriate time you turned to the person you were sitting next to and said, “This would be a really good place for a montage.”)

I said to my friend Peter (a.k.a. Smokey Burner) after the film–and it’s imperative that you understand that I am absolutely, positively in earnest–that as bad as the film was, it would have been perfect with two small changes:

a) The addition of a Predator.
b) If the dog could talk (or at the minimum do a voice-over narration).

Before I explain, let me just say that I think it is Eastwood’s presence that ultimately causes the film to implode. This is a shame, really, because if the film had starred Steven Seagal, Mark Wahlberg, or Vin Diesel, it could have gone straight to video as a Death Wish reboot without having to add all the Jesus imagery the only point of which seems to be to make you wonder if Gus Van Sant somehow decided to do a shot by shot remake of Unforgiven only to have a sly intern slip in pages of The Karate Kid to see if he would notice:

“What’s it like to kill a man?”
“It’s horrible; you take everything he ever has or will have. Now show me wax the car…”

Christian Hamaker:

This religious dialogue in the film is somewhat stimulating, but ultimately disappointing. … Eastwood seems to be more interested in posing—in one case, quite literally—as a Christ figure in Gran Torino, presenting themes of regret and redemption in large letters. However, the religious connections are forced and heavy-handed, unlike the far superior Changeling, where the Christian themes of justice and hope, although outwardly embodied by a man of the cloth, were delivered with more grace and power.

Weaker still is the story of Thao, Kowalski’s harassed neighbor. The young man broods effectively, but every time he opens his mouth, another stilted line ushers forth. Vang simply isn’t a very good actor, and his performance hurts the film.

…

Nevertheless, Gran Torino works fairly well as mainstream entertainment. It gives audiences a loveable rascal in Eastwood’s character, and allows a flawed, racist man to be the instrument of change in the life of a young man in need of direction. It also shows the lengths to which a man might go for his friends—a theme that, again, is more artfully presented in Changeling, but which is not without power here.

Readers are cautioned that the racial epithets and language in Gran Torino are distasteful, and that the movie, even with its explicit religious angle, feels warmed over. There’s not much beyond Eastwood’s enjoyable performance to recommend the film, but watching the actor give one more memorable performance may be enough for Eastwood’s fans.

But not all of my favorite critics disliked it.

Brett McCracken:

Gran Torino is surprisingly earnest—a film that is funny and angry and sad for all the right reasons, and remarkably well timed. As 2008 comes to close—and with it many things—Gran Torino captures the zeitgeist as eloquently as anything possibly could.

Andrew Sarris:

Clint Eastwood’s Gran Torino… caps his career as both a director and an actor with his portrayal of a heroically redeemed bigot of such humanity and luminosity as to exhaust my supply of superlatives.

Stephanie Zacharek:

[U]ntil Gran Torino starts rumbling headlong toward its tone-deaf, self-serious ending… it’s often enjoyable, satisfying and funny.

David Edelstein:

The movie is ludicrous, but Eastwood’s consistency is poignant. He has an agenda and sticks to it.

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I haven’t seen The Wrestler yet, but I’m pleased to refer you to this review:

Michael Leary:

If Bazin was right when he said, “the cinema more than any other art is particularly bound up in love,” then The Wrestler is just barely cinema. It is nice to look at, and is by far Aronofsky’s best film to date, but despite frequent nods toward the development of its broken characters he still seems distracted by things like the perfect 80’s track, the proper strip club mood, or catchy flashbacks.
…
Aronofsky’s ambivalence towards his characters in The Wrestler is demonstrated in the paint-by-numbers movement of Ram through a storyline that has all the depth of a Euripides third act. In his century BCE, Euripides made some interesting narrative moves. But a character with Ram’s awfully modern teleology deserves better than a stripper whose big conundrum is that she can’t date clients, a daughter who is mad at her daddy for staying at the bar for too long, and a service job that pushes his social skills to their limit. By the time we get to the end of the film, Ram’s demise neither fulfills nor subverts the dread that has been growing throughout the film. It simply punctuates it, one more wound in Ram’s broken flesh. It is no different than the end of Nacho Libre, in which Jack Black soars senselessly (yet beautifully) through the air towards the credits. It isn’t the end of Ram in any significant way, it is just the end of the film.

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