Dusting off the Old Toys

I don't think I was the only one who cringed upon hearing that a third Toy Story was in production. Especially concerning were the early stages of this film's life; there was a time when Disney had decided to produce the film without the involvement of its creators at Pixar. Thankfully, fate intervened and allowed Pixar to regain full control of the film. While I still worried that making a sequel to a sequel set a bad precedent for such an talented studio, I was sure it would be of high quality.

I wasn't wrong. Pixar isn't capable of making a bad movie; even making a mediocre one would be a big stretch for them. Yet they seem to be stretching a bit with Toy Story 3. There is very little that's wrong with this film but, goddamn it, I can't sit back and dub it another masterpiece. This is nothing more than a solid sequel and, while that would be a victory for just about anyone else, it's a concerning development for The Studio That Can Do No Wrong.

A bit more than ten years have passed since the release of Toy Story 2, and roughly that much time has passed within the movie's world. Andy, the owner of the eponymous toys, is going to college soon, and will likely leave the toys behind. This has left Woody (Tom Hanks), Buzz (Tim Allen), and the others desperate. They engineer complex plans, making vain attempts to trick their owner into playing with them. Nevertheless, the day arrives when Andy's mother forces him to clean out his room. The teenager opts to put most of his toys into the attic but, through a misunderstanding, all of them end up being donated to Sunnyside Daycare Center. Initially optimistic about all of the new attention they are bound to receive, the toys get a harsh surprise when they find Sunnyside is ruled by a despotic teddy bear named Lotso. Now they must navigate some tense toy politics, not to mention a few dozen insane toddlers.

While Toy Story 3 focuses on the relatively lighthearted events at Sunnyside, the story is framed by some fairly touching themes involving loss and abandonment. I was eight years old when the original film came out, so a brief scene showing home video footage of a young Andy playing with his toys, complete with the indelible "You've Got a Friend in Me" playing in the background, is enough to overwhelm me with a sense of nostalgia. Woody's character arcs nicely, too, as he learns to abandon his unwavering devotion to Andy for something a bit more realistic. None of this quite reaches the emotional heights of WALL-E or Up, but it's still pretty meaty stuff for a movie about toys.

Yet far too much of this film is removed from these themes. The scenes at Sunnyside are consistently entertaining and often funny (especially those with Barbie's boyfriend, Ken), but their relationship with Woody and company's larger plight is not particularly organic. WALL-E led a lonely, repetitive life, so a wild space adventure filled with memorable characters is exactly what he needed. The toys in Toy Story already have each other, so throwing them into a setting with dozens of other characters doesn't have the same resonance. None of the toys (other than Woody) have much importance, either; even Buzz fails to do much beyond adhering to his usual schtick, albeit occasionally en español. While Lotso's history ultimately adds some relevance, this revelation comes too late; much of the time spent at Sunnyside still seems inconsequential – fun, but inconsequential.

Also, the screenplay relies on the same central plot device that the first two movies did: Woody and the toys are taken from Andy's home and must find their way back. Pixar may have grown by leaps and bounds in the past fifteen years, but this film's story doesn't represent that growth as well as it should. On the bright side, it doesn't look like there will be another sequel (unless corporate restructuring rears its ugly head again).

Visually, the film fares a bit better. Director, Lee Unkrich, resists the urge to abandon the original films' visual style, so this may not be the most eye-popping Pixar film in recent years, but anything else would have betrayed the Toy Story universe. The toys still feature excellent animation, moving just enough to convey emotion but being defined by their endearing limitations: Woody's arms flop around behind him when he runs; Barbie and Ken cannot move their fingers; and Lotso's cane sticks to his paw. This movie does sport that troublesome third dimension that wasn't so popular back in 1995, but Unkrich makes the subtlest use of the technology I've seen yet, solely employing it to convey depth of field. The director uses some relatively modern flourishes in the lighting department, too – especially when Lotso's schemes get dirty. Some of these moments feel too cinematic, though, looking so evocative that they uncomfortably hover between parody and earnest drama.

The voice acting, on the other hand, is unequivocally good. Hanks and Allen slip back into their roles easily, as do most of the supporting characters. Michael Keaton and Jodi Benson are hilarious as Ken and Barbie, respectively. There are fun cameos from the likes of Whoopi Goldberg, Timothy Dalton, Jeff Garlin and others. (Although my favorite cameo is a mute Totoro doll.)

Honestly, I think that I've documented here every conceivable complaint one could level against Toy Story 3. This is not a bad film by any measure, but it is neither particularly well-conceived nor audacious. While it does give a beloved series a fond farewell, it does not elevate it to new heights or provide any new perspective on the characters; it's trivial.

It's also a harbinger of movies to come. Sequels to Cars and Monsters, Inc. are in the works at Pixar. I love both of those films, but I never saw any need to continue their stories. This suggests that the future holds more decent fare like Toy Story 3 than it does masterpieces like WALL-E. Only an alarmist would say that Pixar is falling from grace, but maybe they've finally plateaued.

How to Make Your 3D Kids' Movie

How to Train Your Dragon: An IMAX 3D Experience.

A positively nauseating title, right? When I noticed the first advertisements for this film, I did not even bother to roll my eyes. We are currently in the midst of a full-fledged deluge of 3D movies, and one more crappy kids' movie about animals and fart jokes was not going to make things any better. Thank the movie gods, then, that How to Train Your Dragon is not your average kids' movie. Hell, it is not even your average 3D movie. Against all odds, this film changed my preconceptions about what a Dreamworks Animation movie can be, as well as the value of 3D.

Based on a children's book by Cressida Cowell, the film tells the story of Hiccup (Jay Baruchel). Hiccup is a screw up. He lives in a stereotypical Viking society, where anyone worth anything is a great warrior – even the tweens. Naturally, his father, Stoick (Gerard Butler), is the Chief of the town and is more disappointed in him than anyone else. This is not without cause; every time the kid leaves his post at the blacksmith's shop and attempts to enter battle, he does more damage than good.

The battles (as you can probably guess) are not of the human vs. human variety. The film's opening sequence depicts a swarm of dragons laying siege to the Vikings' town, and the Vikings desperately attempting to ward them off. With this battle, directors Dean DeBlois and Chris Sanders immediately subvert expectations. It is an intense sequence, focusing more on mayhem and destruction than the cutesy comedy and friendship for which the title sets us up. There is comedy but it is of the dry variety – Hiccup's sarcasm is largely the source of the film's jokes. As such, the scene does two important things: It establishes Hiccup as more than just a loser – he thinks differently from those around him – and it shows that this movie is going to take its dramatic elements seriously.

That is not to say things remain consistently heavy. In the midst of this first battle, Hiccup manages to hit a rare, exceptionally powerful dragon with a catapult shot. Of course, no one sees it happen, and he must go search for the downed creature alone. The dragon is first seen as a heaving pile of black, scaly flesh; Hiccup is terrified of even touching it. In fact, he attempts to do what any other viking would do: Kill it. As he prepares to do so, however, it raises its eyes to the boy and we see a marked look of fear. Hiccup drops his knife.

Over the course of the next few scenes, their relationship grows in the venerable tradition of Hayao Miyazaki's child-animal friendships. The moment where the two first make physical contact is arresting: Hiccup puts his back to the dragon and, with a humility and confidence that we have yet to see from him, blindly places his hand on its face. The film's score becomes silent, the camera becomes static, and the bond becomes palpable. This moment was the first time I had ever felt something from a Dreamworks Animation film. Pixar has moved me countless times in the past – the excruciatingly tender start to Up, the tragic loneliness of WALL-E – but, with this film, they lose their monopoly on emotionally resonant computer animation.

It is great animation, as well. Hiccup's timid body language accurately and endearingly characterizes him without ever veering into caricature. While the adults' character designs are a bit too exaggerated to take seriously, Hiccup's (along with the other kids') is far more grounded and conveys his unique characteristics nicely.

Most of the dragons are trite or comical in appearance, but Toothless, as Hiccup comes to call his friend, is distinctive – sleek and powerful looking, but endearing, as well. Its face is extremely expressive; the dragon never says a single word, but it has genuine personality. (The moment where it attempts to emulate Hiccup's smile is adorable and quite reminiscent of Totoro.) Perhaps most impressive of all is Toothless in flight. If you have ever watched a Miyazaki film, you know that great animated flight sequences require an intuitive understanding of the physics of flight. When Toothless climbs into the atmosphere, Hiccup clings to his back, being lifted by the dragon. When Toothless dives, Hiccup lifts off of his back and scrambles for a hand hold. It results in flight sequences that are harrowing, thrilling and majestic.

It also results in the single best 3D shot I have ever seen. Toothless dives straight down from the stratosphere, only to bank and fly parallel to the ground. This is all shown with one, continuous shot, following Toothless at its tail. As the dragon's speed picks up, clouds shoot by and the whipping of the wind becomes more intense, then it turns to narrowly dodge rock formations at breakneck speed. The 3D creates a genuine roller coaster feeling; the sense of speed in a film has never, ever before been this real. This must be what the people viewing that mythic first projection of filmed train footage felt when they ran from the theater for fear of being hit.

I do not suddenly think everything should be in 3D, but this film has reminded me of the obvious fact that a talented filmmaker can make any gimmick worthwhile... and that watching things on a huge IMAX screen is awesome. (By comparison, it also illustrates how ineffectual James Cameron's use of the technology was in Avatar.)

Of course, Hiccup's friendship with a dragon flies in the face of his community's ideals. At first, however, it seems to help him. As he becomes closer to Toothless and, as a result, gains better understanding of dragons' behavior, he quickly progresses through dragon fighting classes at home. With his sudden, perceived growth as a warrior, Hiccup gains fame from the townspeople, disdain from his classmates – particularly the hardworking Astrid (America Ferrera) – and praise from his father.

Like so much of this film, Hiccup's relationship with his father gains a surprising level of resonance. Yes, Stoick is a tradition-minded man's man, but he is burdened by his distance from his son and does not relish admonishing him for his atypical ideas. When Hiccup finally seems to be meeting his expectations as a warrior, Stoick quickly realizes that his son's supposed failures were not the simple explanation for their relationship's shortcomings. Similarly, Astrid is just as frustrated with herself for falling behind Hiccup in class as she is with him.

The script's depth does not stop with its characters, either. Hiccup refuses to complete his course of study – the final test is killing a dragon – and, his questioning of the Vikings' ongoing war with the dragons creates some notable thematic depth. The Vikings are single-minded and fail to truly understand their enemy. Even so, their motivations are understandable. The film's opening essentially depicts a slaughter; the dragons seem to be the aggressors. Hiccup's experiences, coupled with his unique perspective, expose the true complexity of their world, but enlightening his peers is not easy. Stoick, Astrid and the community at large are deeply committed to their fight. As reasonable and intelligent as they are, they know nothing else. Such a fundamental sympathy for both sides is vital for good drama. (Avatar's script never came close to understanding this.)

Still, the film does make a few disappointing concessions for the sake of its target demographic. A twist explanation of the dragons' motivations is interesting but ultimately a bit too convenient. It prevents the film from maintaining its full complexity to the end. Furthermore, justice prevails – only those who deserve it die. In fact, I only noticed one on-screen death. (Spoiler: It wasn't a human.) For all the talk of war and barbarism and all the explosions and brandishing of weapons, there is next to no actual violence in this film.

I understand that no one wanted to scar children's psyches, but there comes a point where hiding the violence detracts from the film's ideas. Is the fighting really all that bad if it only results in property damage? Is the killing really all that bad if, well, they only talk about doing it? The film so beautifully illustrates many effects of ignorance on the characters and their society, but it shies away from showing the most serious ones, and the film suffers for it. They had a PG rating. They probably could have done more with it.

That being said, this movie very rarely pulls its punches in any other sense. It is a hundred times smarter than its idiotic name suggests. Even the obligatory "3D" appendage is misleading, as this film contains some excellent use of the technology. If Dreamworks – the lesser Hollywood animation studio – continues to make animated films as good as How to Train Your Dragon, things are really looking up for American animation.

Good Steampunk Fun, Until the Plot Gets the Sack

I suppose I should begin this post with a clarification. I am reviewing 9, the 2009 CGI film about doll-like creatures in a post-apocalyptic world. I am not reviewing Nine, the 2009 remake of 8 1/2 that features Penelope Cruz dancing and singing in her underwear. The latter movie is apparently quite a disappointment, while the subject of my review was in fact quite a good movie.

9 is the story of a group of numerically-named... well, it's hard to decide what to call them. Dolls? Living puppets? Homunculi? In any case, the protagonists look as if they're refugees from a gritty steampunk reboot of LittleBigPlanet; there are indeed a few scenes that appear far too videogame-y. The diminutive protagonists wander a destroyed Earth; judging from the state of ruined technology we see, this world died in some even-bloodier alternate 1940's. Human corpses still litter streets and bombed-out buildings, though the discreet camera rarely focuses on them.

Tim Burton was one of the producers for 9, though director Shane Acker apparently conceived the story and characters. This is Acker's first full-length film, and I'm afraid he wears all his influences on his sleeve. The general aesthetic is Burton-esque, though the film lacks the real nastiness that often mars Burton's films. The stronghold of the evil machines resembles Mordor in The Lord of the Rings films – for which Acker contributed some digital effects – while another shambling machine clearly has relatives in The Matrix. While 9 doesn't lack for derivative moments, it also features a number of wonderfully original creations. I especially like the "Serpent" monster that attacks our heroes; it's a creature of metal, porcelain, and yarn that bears a dead homunculus as the rattle of its tail. It's a very impressive beast, and one almost feels bad when the intrepid 9 destroys it.

Like most big-budget CGI films, 9 has several major stars providing voiceovers. Elijah Wood plays 9 (The Lord of the Rings influence again), Jennifer Connelly plays platonic love interest 7, and Christopher Plummer plays the mildly despotic ruler 1. All the actors provide good performances, and none makes the error of trying to steal the show from the apocalyptic setting and the mechanical beasts.

Like most non-Disney animation, this is not an actor's film. The CGI is good, though I can't say it blew me away. The backgrounds sometimes seem a trifle static; the last war seems to have killed off not just the humans but also the cockroaches. The quiet dead world fits 9's stories, but it doesn't provide the animators much room for grace notes and flourishes.

Before I saw 9, I'd read some speculation that the writers might originally have intended to resolve the plot in a different manner. Certainly there are artifacts of a different – and better – story in 9, and I think the film's last act is rather weak. For most of the film's running time, 9's world seems to operate on movie-science-steampunk rules, but the film's ending both fails to resolve much of anything and introduces unnecessary mysticism. 9 ends with an image of renewal – rain once again falling on the ruined Earth – but there's little sense that anything has really changed. To be perfectly frank, I don't think the story ever had all that much room to breathe; 9 runs only an hour and twenty minutes. I wouldn't have minded further explorations of the film's world and characters; perhaps the budget didn't allow for it. Perhaps the producers realized that 9 has a demographic problem: It's a comparatively dark computer-animated film rated PG-13 and not exactly likely to set the box office afire.

9 is a pretty, entertaining film, but I can't help but think it could have been much more. It's terribly short and the initially compelling story falls apart near the end. Still, 9's world, its creatures, and its action won me over in the end. In a better world, 9 would have been a great film. I hope Acker gets the chance to make some more movies; I'm very curious to see what else he can do.

Wes Anderson Gets a Little Wild

Now that Fantastic Mr. Fox has hit theaters, it is clear where Wes Anderson's career has been headed. His dry comedies have always been filled with characters who are somewhere between abstract caricatures and everyday people. His visual style is similar in its ironies: wholly stylized and modern – with conspicuously storyboarded shots, bold color palettes and mechanical manipulations of space – but always striving for a simple familiarity. Thus far, he has only used live action, often bearing mixed results. When these qualities are considered together, though, it becomes quite clear that Wes Anderson has been making animated films for his entire career – only he never before used animation to do so.

Mr. Fox (George Clooney) is a middle-aged newspaper columnist. He lives, humbly, in his foxhole with his pragmatic wife, Felicity (Meryl Streep) and his ill-tempered son, Ash (Jason Schwartzman). His life was not always so mundane. He once had thrilling adventures, doing what foxes do: pulling off clever heists at local farms. Under the guise of vaulting ambition, Mr. Fox decides to relocate his family to a high-class apartment in a tree – a tree that just so happens to overlook the three biggest farms in the area. With the help of his opossum building superintendent, Kylie (Wallace Wolodarsky), he begins perpetrating small heists. All of the distraction is taking a toll on his son, who only becomes more surly when his prodigy cousin, Kristofferson (Eric Chase Anderson) comes to stay with the family. As Mr. Fox becomes more audacious, Ash becomes more desperate for his approval and the local farmers step up their efforts to stop Mr. Fox, making things more and more dangerous for the entire animal community.

Despite the fact that this is an adaptation of a Roald Dahl story that he co-wrote with Noah Baumbach, all of the typical Wes Anderson themes are present: The father in the midst of a midlife crisis, the alienated son, the absurd predicament that brings everyone together and, of course, Bill Murray playing a badger. In fact, what may be most striking to Anderson fans is just how familiar it all feels; the story plays like any other Wes Anderson movie, despite the fact that all of the characters are now stop-motion-animated animals. Fortunately, while all of these characteristics were growing quite stale by the time The Darjeeling Limited came out in 2007, the move to animation has given them new life.

Anderson's past films worked very hard to convince us that his characters were larger than life – Steve Zissou in The Life Aquatic was a famous adventurer and documentarian; The Royal Tenenbaums was framed as a children's book – but such an effect is built directly into the medium of animation. Animated characters' appearances are inherently more simplistic than any real human's (or fox's), so it is far easier for us to view them as representative of something more than just one character. As such, much of what usually seems forced in other Wes Anderson movies works naturally in this film. This is most obvious in the film's later, more emotional scenes. Mr. Fox's behavior puts his family in danger. In a live action film, this would be difficult to forgive, but in a medium where the character can literally embody sly ambition, it is endearing.

Just as divisive as his writing, Anderson's visual style can be an acquired taste, but it can also grow rather tiresome. Thankfully, the rustic, stop-motion animation in this film allows him to create something that looks completely fresh, without compromising his trademark style. Anderson still shoots his environments as if they were a series of dioramas, only to be viewed from one, wide shot at one angle, but this is a perfect fit for a form of animation that is produced this way by its very nature. This exemplifies how this film's aesthetic can be described in a way that his previous films' cannot: organic. Tristan Oliver's cinematography even has a subtler color palette than other Anderson films do, bathing most of the film in warm oranges and browns.

Anderson and his art department do great work across the board, creating expressive characters with decidedly unique designs, as well as very believable sets. (I had never considered what a badger lawyer's office would look like before seeing this film but, while I was watching, I completely bought their take on it.) His inclination to keep production design with one foot in the Sixties also fits nicely here, as telling a story about animals on a farm benefits from a sense of timelessness. The puppets make a strong argument for the choice of animation style, since it's doubtful that any other type of animation could give the furry characters the same, tangible quality that this one does.

The animation itself is generally quite good, too, rarely distracting but never letting the audience forget what they are watching; puffs of smoke are produced with cotton balls and the fur on characters in close-up moves between each frame. Memorable moments include encounters with a deceitful rat that fights with the theatricality of a West Side Story dancer and Kristofferson's absurdly skillful first try at "whack-bat," an animal sport.

The voice cast skillfully completes the process of bringing the characters to life. Anderson did not use a recording studio to capture the performances of Clooney and company, instead taking the actors to a location similar to that of the given scene. The trick pays off, as the star-studded cast provides performances devoid of that lazy, wooden quality that is often found when actors believe they are slumming it in animation. (Willem Dafoe's cameo is a highlight.) The witty, rapid-fire dialogue is delivered with the same understatement and tight timing that much of the cast has provided in past, live action Anderson films, and scenes between Clooney and Streep are probably more genuine than anything we saw in those films.

Accordingly, my feelings as I was walking out of this film were quite genuine, as well. I have been ambivalent about Wes Anderson in the past, but Fantastic Mr. Fox is the work of a filmmaker who has finally found what works for him. All of his predilections easily made the transition into animation, finding a medium that suits them far more naturally. For the first time, he has created a film that the uninitiated can walk into and easily enjoy. It also means that, for the first time, I am looking forward to seeing what he does next.

Resisting the Urge to Compare Walt Disney to the Ayatollah

One reviewer said of the recent French film, "Persepolis" that it was sad it took an animated film to honestly convey Iran's recent history. This statement left me wondering if any other artistic medium is treated with such condescension these days, much less one that was so undeserving of it. Then again, that question seems silly when one skims the glowing reviews for Pixar's latest film, "Wall-E." That film has plenty to say, even if it does so within the bounds of the G rating. So where does animation stand in this country? In short, at the head of the kids' table.

Obviously, that one aforementioned review is not necessarily indicative of our culture's views on animation as whole. (The review is from highdefdigest.com, an obscure source, to say the least.) The indicators, however, of our low opinion of animation are everywhere. All you have to do is look at the dearth of primetime animated television, or the Oscars' relegation of animation to its own category -- a move that simultaneously ensured that animated films would be recognized each year, and that they would never again get a shot at other, more prestigious awards like Best Picture. Animation is clearly second-class filmmaking in the general public's opinion. So, why is it that, looking back on the first half of this year, two of the best new films I've seen are animated?

Well, there isn't one, single answer to that question. Pixar's "Wall-E," however, is a good case study in the American school of animation. When I walked out of the film, I was struggling not to grin, feeling quite moved, and thinking that it was the best film I've seen in a while -- three rare occurrences for me, to be sure. On the ride home, that feeling faded, and by the time I had reached my destination, I realized that I had little else to say about it. "Wall-E" starts out sporting a shocking attribute: silence. There is very little dialogue in the first third of director, Andrew Stanton's the film. This is the sign of a filmmaker that is confident in both his material and his vision. His confidence is not misplaced, either. I defy you not to fall in love with the eponymous character and his touching story.

Thing is, you've probably heard similar praise given to any number of Disney movies (apart from the use of silence). In the quality of its direction and the sharpness of its satire, "Wall-E" easily outclasses anything Disney proper has done in decades. But, that's not saying much. Once the film's ideas on our mistreatment of our planet, as well as our own bodies, solidify, there's very little to parse here. There is something to be said about the fact that a robot is the only truly human character in the film, but this is merely an undertone -- something on which a more ambitious film would have followed through. (Perhaps by way of an ending that isn't so neat as this one's.) Ultimately, "Wall-E" is still clean, family-oriented entertainment that puts accessibility before ambition.

Before I move on, I have to reiterate that "Wall-E" is one of the best movies made so far this year. There is absolutely NO reason to pass up an opportunity to see this film. Let me explain, however, why France's "Persepolis" is even more deserving of your attention.

When I walked out of "Persepolis," I wasn't quite so sure what to feel. Graphic novelist, Marjane Satrapi's story about her growth from a troublemaking Iranian girl to a, well, troublemaking Iranian woman is long, winding and, overall, exhausting. It isn't the kind of film that you walk out of feeling fulfilled -- not on the first viewing, at least. The complexity and sensitivity of its subject matter is self-evident, but nevertheless could have been made easier to swallow. Thankfully, Satrapi and co-writer/director, Vincent Paronnaud understood that doing so would have made the film utterly pointless. Iran has not changed a great deal in the years since Satrapi's youth, and time has not made this any easier for her to grapple with.

While all of this means that the screenplay gives its audience much more credit than the majority of American animation, I must not ignore the animation itself. The film stays very faithful to the visual style of her graphic novels, and is all the more breathtaking for it. The lack of color and extensive use of clean lines creates a bold look that never lets you forget you're watching animation, but only in the best way possible. Pixar's artistic prowess is not to be understated, but their films' technical mastery has always served create to create something ostensibly realistic. (There is even fleeting use of live action actors in "Wall-E.") "Persepolis" uses its inescapable unreality to convey the emotional truths behind the facts. In a sense, this is what all art is meant to do. Who, after all, walks away from "Casablanca" or "The Godfather" saying, "That was so realistic!"?

I was saddened to watch Pixar's previous film, "Ratatouille" beat "Persepolis" for last year's Best Animated Feature award. ("Persepolis" was entered into last year's Oscars, but widely released months later.) "Ratatouille" was, again, by no stretch of the imagination a bad film, but shared many of the flaws "Wall-E" suffers from (and more). This shows that Americans are still not quite ready to embrace animation as the boundless, unexplored creative palate that it is. The major studios continue to crank out computer animated pictures aimed at preschoolers and their overworked parents -- most paling in comparison to even Pixar's work. The burgeoning popularity of "Persepolis" in the States, however, provides hope for the future. Maybe, one day, we'll look back and see that little Marjane wasn't only calling for a political revolution, but a creative one, as well.