“But isn’t it time we stopped accepting in film criticism an anti-emotional, phony rationalism which we know to be not just harmful, but absurd, in any other context? Isn’t it time we plucked up our courage and allowed our hearts as well as our heads to go the pictures?”
Raymond Durgnat (Films and Feelings) 1971
Search This Blog
Moulin Rouge!: Musicals Chasing Authenticity
In 2009, SNL premiered a comedy skit “High School Musical 4” as an imagined follow-up to the Disney Channel musical movie
franchise. In this skit, Troy Bolton, the singing basketball star of the movies, returns for the ceremony for the next graduating class of East
High. The students enthusiastically welcome Troy with an impromptu musical
number which he quickly dismisses. Troy then imparts a grave admonition to the wide-eyed
graduating seniors: “No one sings at college.
And from what I can tell, this is America’s only singing high school."
The graduating class is aghast, but there's more. Troy continues to detail just how brutally he was pummeled by reality once he stepped out of the bubble of his perfectly choreographed cotton-candy haven and into a world that does not appreciate him singing about his feelings in his apartment at night. Not only does nobody sing in the real
world, but also his East High education has
left him entirely unprepared for life after high school. Sure he knows to "accept himself," but the real world expects him to know things
like the capital of Texas. "I'm a year out of high school and my life's over," he laments. The skit ends with a thawed Walt Disney entering
the stage and telling Troy he was never meant to grow up anyway and that this
is where he belongs, not the real world.
Snark seems to be the modern response to the optimism of what was once Hollywood’s most
bankable form of film. The selling point of musicals was their ability to use
song and dance to frame the world as a colorful, fantastical place. But what
some describe as fantastical, others might describe as
artificial. Jane Feuer, professor at the University of Pittsburg, describes
this quid pro quo of the genre.
Singin' in the Rain (1952)
Part
of the reason some of us love musicals so passionately is that they give us a
glimpse of what it would be like to be free. We desperately need images of
liberation in popular arts. But the musical presents its vision of the
unfettered human spirit in a way that forecloses a desire to translate that
vision into reality. The Hollywood version of Utopia is entirely solipsistic.
In its endless reflexivity the musical can offer only itself, only
entertainment as its picture of Utopia.
In short, East High is not the real world. Troy Bolton should never have attempted to cross over, and we should never expect him to. He must linger
around the musical hallways of East High forever. Always singing, never growing
up. Never facing the world as it really is.
Such is the quiet insecurity of many a musical lover: We enjoy
watching Judy Garland and Gene Kelly dance into each other’s arms in time for
the curtain call, but we know that it’s naïve to expect our own romances to work out
so neatly. This of course brings up the question, what then is the use of these
“images of liberation?” Are musicals good for anything other than a distraction
for the masses or a trap for suckers too idealistic for their own good?
Enter Moulin Rouge! This 2001
musical film, directed by Baz Lurhman, repurposes famous pop songs from the
twentieth century into a two-hour melodrama overflowing with spectacle and emotions. The film’s protagonist,
Christian, is an eternal idealist who sounds like he could be fresh out of East
High himself. When he declares “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love
and be loved in return," you don't hear a laugh track. You might find yourself moved by his unflinching reverence for love and happiness, if you can suppress a snigger.
Like SNL’s skit, Moulin Rouge!
functions as a response to that unwavering idealism that feels straight out of
the 1950s, but Moulin Rouge! thoughtfully dissects the assumptions, motivations, and history of the musical format, including its veneration for romanticism. By embracing rather than ignoring the harsh reality we live in, Moulin Rouge!
crafts the best defense of musical idealism and finds a use for these “images
of liberation.” We need musicals not despite the state of the world but because of it.
A
Quick Introduction for the Uninitiated Reader
The story is told in frame
narrative, with the main character, hopeless romantic Christian (Ewan McGregor),
reflecting on the events of the narrative a year after. He recalls
coming to Paris to take part in the artistic revolution and quickly finding
himself part of a troupe of bohemian performers. They recruit him to their mission to have their stage
show, Spectacular, Spectacular!, performed on stage at the famed
cabaret, the Moulin Rouge, owned by Harold Ziddler (Jim Broadbent). When pitching
the show, Christian finds himself in the presence of courtesan and cabaret
star, Satine (Nicole Kidman). Christian’s poetic gift and boundless idealism
woo Satine, and they fall into a forbidden romance.
Christian and Satine attempt to hide their
love from the world, especially from the rich and powerful Duke (Richard Roxburgh)
to whom Satine is promised. As the charade grows more dire, Christian and Satine find themselves being torn apart by forces stronger than even that of true love, including a grave illness that silently eats away at Satine, and Christian's inescapable jealousy.
Christian, the eternal idealist that
he is, is something of a proxy for musical protagonists from the golden age of
musicals, the clay with which the movie crafts its attitude toward musical idealism. The film’s thematic conflict is between Christian
and the ideals he espouses. Turns out
the path to true love entails more than dancing and fireworks, and even the sincerest
love is not beyond the grip of tragedy. The thematic tension from the movie
comes from not knowing whether or not Christian will maintain his poetic world
views after colliding with reality: Is there something to Christian’s boundless
idealism, or is he just another sucker who has seen The Sound of Music one
too many times?
We can only get so far into this discussion before talking about the movie's "over-the-top-ness." If you ask someone who loves the movie to describe it in one word, you might hear them call it "vibrant" or "bold." If you ask someone who hates this movie to describe it in one word, you might hear them call it "gaudy" or "excessive." Compare this movie to the Les Miserables film adaptation. That film tries to integrate the musical experience with a familiar reality. Everything there is grim and harsh, captured in unflinching realness. Moulin Rouge! is not that movie.
This world is electric and colorful. This is a world where Christian Satine leaping from the window of her hut (a hut shaped like
an elephant, incidentally) and into the clouds hanging over the Parisian night
sky feels like a natural progression. Yes, this kind of thing would never happen in real life, but Moulin Rouge! revels in the form's innate performativity. The film goes out of its way to tell the audience that the
film they’re watching is not “real.” So, if it’s not “real,” does that
automatically mean it’s “fake?” Is the entire film, and the foundation of musical storytelling, one big joke on the
audience? These are questions that musicals
have been asking for a long time.
Crash Course in Musical History
Shall We Dance (1937)
When a person thinks "musical," what probably comes to mind is the Hollywood extravaganzas of 1930s and 40s when the genre was at its apex creatively and financially. It was during this time that audiences would flee
to the cinema to escape from the unforgiving landscape of reality. For a world
shredded by World War II and America’s Great Depression, an afternoon with Fred
and Ginger waltzing into the sunset was a breath of fresh air, and musicals
fueled the discouraged public with much-needed optimism. That's something I feel we really need to establish: Hollywood musical as a form of entertainment rose to prominence during a time of heavy distress, for America specifically and the world at large.
Those early musicals also set the standard
for the basic narrative template for musical films. The storyline is usually
concerned with the lives of storytellers or performers striving to perfect
their craft. Parallel to this is usually a love story with two young lovers who
the audience knows will end up together by the curtain call. At some point, the
romance of music rubs up against the harsh reality of life, forcing our
protagonist to question his or her ideals as a performer. By clinging closer to
his or her romantic notions of art and love, the protagonist comes out
triumphant, the lovers are united, and art is affirmed as a panacea for the hardships
of reality. This is the template of most classical musicals, Singin’ in the
Rain, White Christmas, Showboat, and many others. These kinds of films are affirmative of musical idealism: you can always count on singing to bring
you out on top.
Hello, Dolly! (1969)
Musicals as an artform started to lose their footing as reliable business gambles as the nature of moviegoing and even the structure of film studios started to rearrange drastically. Moreover, societal upheaval in the 60s and 70s left the population questioning and
challenging many institutions in and out of Hollywood, and what was more
questionable than the notion that you could sing your life’s problems away? From
the other side of Watergate, this whole idea seemed childish. Audiences just
weren’t buying it anymore. And so musicals became less a symbol of America’s
hopefulness and more a dartboard for all societal frustrations over the dumpster fire that is real life.
Audiences in the following decades
affirmed their superiority over these classical musicals with counter-musicals
like The Rocky Horror Picture Show or Pennies from Heaven.
These films distinguished themselves aggressively from their classical
predecessors. Naturally they couldn’t be optimistic and dreamy—audiences today
were too mature for such nonsense. Newer, cooler musicals were dark and
violent, and the bubble that once deflected seedier content from musicals was
popped. Rape, drugs, murder, prostitution, capital punishment, and so on were fair game now.
Cabaret (1972)
Plot-wise, these anti-musicals would often
follow the same narrative starting ground as their predecessors and only
diverge in the final act, typically eschewing the standard happy
endings for more downbeat “realistic” endings. Cabaret, for example,concludes
with our leading lady undergoing an abortion as she sheds ties with the
man she knows can never be happy with, this in itself a metaphor for her
surrendering herself to the inevitability of the rise of Nazism in 1930s
Germany.
Eventually, these revisionist-musicals lost their
novelty and died off, yet even in their wake traditional musicals never got back on their feet. They haven’t gone away completely, but movie musicals
today are a rarity. Hollywood usually only premieres one or two a year, nothing
at all like the near monopoly they had in their golden age.
Moulin Rouge! enters the
stage in an era where musicals are kind of the odd man out. All Hollywood knows
is that last time it tried playing the musical game, it didn’t go well. As a
result, anytime Hollywood does approach the genre, it approaches it with a lot
of caution and not a lot of sincerity. “Don’t force the audience to believe in
the power of music too much. If we can just let
them laugh at musicals for being so silly, then they won’t be scared off!” So Moulin Rouge! has a sort of shared heritage with the sincere musicals as well as the cynical musicals, which begs questions of which form of musical has the stronger influence on its output or even which form ought to. Plot elements like a lead character who sells sex to stay alive are features of revisionist musicals, yet the film still leans
toward the ideology of classical musicals. When Christian proclaims "The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return," there's no laugh track or snide comment about "okay, but can you tell me the capital of Texas?" Such idealism is presented as a legitimate thought worthy of the audience's contemplation. That is a large part of what makes Moulin Rouge! such a unique entry: it allows itself to have it both ways: edgy and self-aware, yet also boldly sincere. The film pulls it off partly because of Baz Luhrman's masterful direction, but also because it probes at the bedrock assumptions of the musical genre: can love really save the day?
"The Curtain" and Authenticity
In addition to having similar aesthetic and narrative
features, genres tend to center around certain discussions and topics, and they
come with built-in tools that aid in these conversations. Western
films comment on the American legacy, and they often feature a
weathered but determined sheriff as this stand-in for the American spirit. The
sheriff’s victory over the outlaw represents America’s triumph over the forces that threaten the nation's survival. For musicals, much of these
discussions relate to the nature of staged entertainment. It’s no
coincidence that stages, entertainers, and curtains are recurring characters
across musicals of all eras. Musicals like to dazzle audiences with spectacular displays while also giving these audiences the tools to dissect their relationship to these performances.
The Pirate (1948)
The idea of “performance” connotes fabrication and playing pretend. It’s not incidental that a genre featuring an elevated
and sanitized worldview is stuffed with reminders that this world is staged,
and we the audience are participating in this ritual with the understanding
that this is not a photorealistic picture of how life works: people don't sing in real life.
Cynics will sometimes assign these built-in caveats as features unique to more modern "enlightened" musicals, like we only discovered that musicals are performances this morning. But Cabaret didn't introduce viewpoint, it just really went to town with it. There are reasons why musical films were usually about music. This gives these films a
chance to engage in meta-textual dialogue about the format of entertainment including its modified picture of the world. It
allows the audience to acknowledge how this reality is shaped into one where people bursting into song isn’t odd and where the essence of a thing is more important than the literalness of the thing.
Plots of musicals usually take advantage of this feature by exploring some kind of untruth, often one partially aided by the use of a performance that is likened to that of a stage/screen performance, and following the unraveling of that distortion.Singin’ in the
Rainfollows a group of movie-makers struggling to keep their
business together after the innovation of talking film throws them for a loop. The
masses perceive them as a company founded on “dignity, always dignity,” but
watching them teeter between various states of chaos we see just
how these filmmakers are anything but dignified. In front of the curtain, they are picture of
prestige. Behind the curtain, they are a bunch of clowns. Eventually the cast
realizes the image they are presenting to the masses comes at the expense of, ironically, their dignity, and the film’s resolution comes when they
decide to drop the charade, fittingly by raising a curtain.
But it's also a bit of a fallacy to assume that this curtain was there to disassociate from the heavier or darker aspects of reality. Again, the heyday of musicals spanned America's Great Depression as well as World War II, and many of these films directly incorporated this setting into their storylines.
One underseen musical from this era, Tonight and Every Night, saw Rita Hayworth playing a headlining performer in a London theater keeping its lights on even as the bombs are dropping. The film has Hayworth at a crossroads deciding whether she's going to continue her run at the theater or follow her beau as he's taken over seas to assist in the war efforts. She resolves to go with him, but after two of her friends and fellow performers are killed in an air raid, she decides to stay with the show after all to help keep the theater open as a sanctuary for all those who have lost and grieved during this time of turmoil and despair. The film concludes with Hayworth's character reprising the show's title song in the place of her friend. She performs this song with a smile, but up close we see the tears falling from her face, portending a reserve of despair beneath her gaiety. But she isn't lying or even disassociating, this is a conscious choice she is making to create spaces of light and happiness for those who feel broken. This is another underdiscussed component of the musical experience: the special solemnity that emerges when you blend real-life heartbreak with on-stage fantasy.
Films like Singin’
in the Rain and Tonight and Every Night are still affirmative of the benevolence
of the curtain. Perhaps we need to peek behind it sometimes, but the curtain has a reason for being here, and it’s not like it was hiding
anything that bad to begin with. This is where the revisionist musicals are
different. They hate the curtain. They'll never forgive the curtain
for telling them Santa Claus was real and want to make sure no one forgets the curtain offers only false hope and empty promises. Anti-musicals were unique not for acknowledging "the curtain" or "the performance" but for calling it "a lie." To revisionist musicals, "the performance" is the entire pretense that musical optimism is anything but fluff.
So how does Moulin Rouge! feel
about its curtain? What does the film say is or isn’t real? Let’s take stock of
the main performances within the show.
Let’s start with the performance
of the Moulin Rouge itself: our introduction to the “kingdom of nighttime pleasures”
is colorful, explosive, and enticing. Our first sequence within the Moulin
Rouge is a rapid-fire of quick-cut shots of vibrant images of ecstatic dancing
and celebrating. It's like the camera wants to capture every possible shot of the
Moulin Rouge at once. Every conceivable pleasure is on stage ready for
consumption. However, we discover this advertisement of limitless indulgence is
a fraud the moment we step behind the curtain.
After Satine faints and is rushed off-stage to
recover, we discover that the corners of the Moulin Rouge that aren’t on display are not so electric. The off-stage area is cramped and colorless, viewed
through claustrophobia-inducing closeups. Peeking behind the curtain almost always occurs in tandem with Satine's illness overtaking her, and so this entire backstage world is associated with sickness or malnourishment. This veneer of
excitement is merely coating over a desperate and underfed skeleton of
existence.
From this disconnect, we can also
see why the performers at the Moulin Rouge are so eager to put on their façade
of glamour and excitement. The patrons aren’t the only ones who are thrilled by
the ecstasy of their performance. These performers live in poverty and
desperation, and they are just as much
in need of a distraction as the audiences they perform for. Yes, their world is
all style and no substance, but style is all they have. The closest thing they
experience to real happiness is the imitation they put on for the patrons of
the cabaret. No one needs “images of liberation” more than those creating the
images.
The most significant performance is
the one Satine gives in her love affairs. Early on, she tells Christian up and
front “I’m paid to make men believe what they want to believe.” This refers
most explicitly to her work as a courtesan, but it also echoes the function of
entertainment itself. Satine is, after all, introduced in a dazzling
spectacular number flying over the audience in a swing. In this way, the film compares
the experience of being entertained to a love affair with an exotic courtesan.
After all, Satine can use this performance to feed fantasies as vivid as any
stage show to the men who pay for her service. A key piece of the plot features
her engaging in such a performance with the Duke, whom she must convince she is
desperately in love with while she's carrying a love affair with another man.
But something also worth remarking upon is that Christian and Satine are almost made counterparts to one another in their ability to spin desirable fantasies--to make people believe what they want to believe--Satine with her work as a courtesan, Christian with his gift of music and lyric. While the characters spend the most runtime warning Christian about not falling for her game, Satine is sort of falling for his spell, buying into the fantasy he is selling her. It's not a fantasy of pleasure or indulgence, but of freedom and beauty. There is certainly a risk for Christian to believe in Satine's performance-- that this woman who packages and sells love could ever really be in love with a lowly poet like him--but what about the leap Satine takes with Christian and his promise of true, lasting love?
Satine carries her love for Christian even when they are not
together. She will eventually bite back at Ziddler for
trying to take her away from this love. In one of the most charged moments of Kidman's performance, Satine disavows her life of pretending in favor of the substance she finds with Christian. She exclaims, “All my life you made me believe
I was only worth what someone would pay for me! But Christian loves me. And that is worth everything!” Contrast Satine’s “off-stage” behavior to what we see behind the
curtain of the performers of the Moulin Rouge. Whatever Christian does or does
not see, we know that Satine’s love for him is not an act of performative
deception. And this is perhaps the most compelling
thing the film has to say about the nature of truthfulness in performance. Of
all the performances within the film, this is the most honest: Satine truly
does love Christian. The only time Satine ever does deceive Christian is when
she pretends she doesn’t love him. Of all the facets of musical
storytelling, the only one the film asserts is completely honest is that of true and lasting love.
In Moulin Rouge! "the curtain" is a device used to mask a deep-rooted aching. Those most invested in this performance try to fill that void with imitations of ecstasy, but they can't escape the emptiness of their reality. The only thing real in this world is the love of Christian and Satine. It's no wonder why by the film's finale, the cast of the Moulin Rouge have embraced Christian and Satine's love and why the spectacle they build in tribute is the most spectacular they have yet created: It's the first time they've sung about anything true and lasting. The
“eat, drink, and be merry” lifestyle of the performers is paper-thin, but the
capacity for genuine love is real, and it's worth singing about.
Does Love Save the Day?
When the Duke learns the truth of Christian and Satine’s love affair, he vows to have Christian killed. Broken after learning that she is dying, and desperate to get Christian out of the Duke’s warpath, Satine untruthfully tells Christian that she has chosen life with the Duke and that their romance was ultimately a performance, just as he feared. This devastates Christian, and he confronts Satine on stage on the opening night of Spectacular, Spectacular! Tossing a handful of money at her, a declaration that he too saw their intimate love as just another one of her services, he proclaims “Thank you for curing me of my ridiculous obsession with love!”
As he turns his back to leave, Satine sings their secret love song, a promise they made to one another that whatever performance they must give, their love for each other is true. Christian, his heart softened, joins Satine’s duet and embraces her on the stage. The Duke aggravates his attempt to kill Christian. The performers, masking it as a part of the performance, thwart the Duke and proclaim that Christian and Satine’s love will prevail. But just after the curtain falls, Satine succumbs to her illness. Before dying in Christian’s arms, she tells him to write their story. “That way, I’ll always be with you.”
The film has two “endings,” one that happens onstage and one that happens
behind the curtain, and they diverge wildly. In one, the story ends with the
lovers overcoming all obstacles and reaching their happy endings. In the other,
the story ends with Satine dying tragically. On the
surface, it seems like the film is instantly setting up the two “endings” as
contrasts. Having Satine die on the very stage on which she was singing
triumphantly the minute the curtain falls seems like a jab at classical
musicals. It's like a confession that it's only on stage that happy endings are possible. There's a branch of critics who cite this feature as evidence that Moulin Rouge! takes a more revisionist perspective on musicals. I respectfully disagree.
The film begins with Christian telling us that the woman he loves is dead, and we are reminded of her fate throughout the film. Whether or not Satine lives at the end was never really an item of tension for the audience. That's not the question we're hanging on until the very end. The first time I watched this film, I remember being on edge all through the climax because I felt that what they were building toward was Christian rejecting Satine only for him to find out about the Duke's threat after Satine had died, and we'd get this deeply tragic ending where Christian has to live knowing that Satine's last memories where of him scorning her. And so the fact that they are able to slip in a moment of genuine reconciliation, even elation, just before Satine died was one big sigh of relief.
This is also where Christian's character arc comes into play. The moment when Satine starts to sing
their song, Christian is faced with a choice. He can respond with the broken
cynicism he feels in that moment, giving in to his worst suspicions. Or he can respond with the hope and ideals he proclaimed to
live by and trust that there’s more to the story than what he can see. This is the final test of his character and the true
strength of his ideals. By singing along with Satine, he proves to himself that
his love is not some child’s coping mechanism, and when they sing together they
prove to the Duke that their love is stronger than his hate.
Watching Satine die, heartbreaking as it
may have been for Christian, was still a tender mercy. The worst possible
outcome here wasn’t Satine dying—that was always going to happen—but rather
Satine dying without them rekindling their love. Whatever
happy ending they did get, they got it by clinging to their ideals and
believing in love above all things.
In a director’s commentary for the
film, Baz Lurhman says the following:
He
[Christian] learns a more mature notion of love, and that is not the youthful
notion of love. He learns that love cannot conquer all things . . . So while
he’s been scarred, and it’s not the youthful effervescent love, it’s love that
will live forever . . . it’s the transition from the more reckless, youthful,
‘Romeo and Juliet’ kind of love to a kind of more spiritual, a more mature kind
of relationship to the idea of love, and in fact ideals.
Craig
Pearce, screenwriter, adds to Lurhman's remarks:
And
the important thing for Christian’s journey is that even though he discovers
that love doesn’t conquer all that he accepts that, that he doesn’t give up on
those ideals.
The film’s onstage ending proves
that Christian and Satine’s love is stronger than the Duke. The ending behind
the curtain proves that their love is stronger than death. In this movie
idealism wins, not because singing stops tragedy from befalling Christian and
Satine, but because in choosing to believe in love, Christian and Satine get to
hold on to the one thing that tragedy can’t take away from them.
Curtain
Call
One sort of phenomenon I have observed with fellow lovers of this movie is that even though the tragic element of the story in some ways its centerpiece, you almost forget about it when you're not seeing it play out on screen. Like, you're almost surprised when Satine dies in Christian's arms, as she has every time. That's because it's not really the devastation that lures you back to the movie, it's that soaring feeling of freedom leading up to it. We accept "You have to carry on without me, Christian," but we revel in "the greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return."
In this way, the movie has a lot in common with a movie like Titanic. The devastation of the story is built-in to the experience and even the title, but it's that sense of elation that you carry with you, and that's what draws you back to the Moulin Rouge. That elation has more power than the devastation. That's the power of storytelling. That's why we return to stories with tragic endings. That's what a romantic poet has to gain by sharing the story of the love he lost. That's why a world without music owes it to itself to sing.
For ages we have used musicals to
ask ourselves how we can sing in a world so susceptible to tragedy. Perhaps now
we’ve moved past the all or nothing mentality we’ve trapped ourselves in for
decades, and we can learn to approach the matter with the nuance employed
within Moulin Rouge! Opening your heart as Christian
does leaves you vulnerable to disappointment and heartbreak, but we are all
subject to this regardless of how we feel about Fred and Ginger. When you
choose to approach life’s tragedies with optimism, you give yourself some power
over these losses.
Maybe it was a good thing that we as
a society did experience that phase of reality-check style musicals, but what
are we as a society if we are unwilling to view life through the eyes of
color and hope? Or if we abandon our ideals the moment they are questioned? Behind this curtain we hate for promising a
vision that can never be translated to reality is a testament to the human
capacity to create, hope, and love despite what’s happening off-stage.
Only my 78th plug for "Singin' in the Rain"
Musicals give us the chance to see
life through the eyes of hope and brightness and endow even our darkest moments
with light. When we try to escape into that world entirely and shut out reality
altogether, then we find ourselves out of touch with life, like Troy
Bolton in SNL. But that’s not to say there isn’t a place to use this idealism,
even as wholeheartedly as Christian does. Maybe the classical musicals were on
to something. When the world didn’t naturally offer any bright spots, they made
their own.
We often talk about this worldview
as something to grow out of—taking off the rose-tinted glasses and such—as if shirking from vulnerability and optimism wasn't our natural response to hardship, and as if overcoming that weren't a truer mark of growth. For Christian, staying true to his ideals means looking beyond his immediate pain and
insecurities and remaining loyal in the face of adversity. We talk about this
idealism as something childish and immature, but to endure the bitter storm of an
unforgiving reality and still come out singing, that’s one of the most mature
things a person can do. --The Professor
I think I must have known that Chris Sanders had another movie on deck, but I guess I had forgotten it was coming out so soon. For whatever reason, when I saw his name at the end of the credits for The Wild Robot , out this weekend, I was caught off guard ... and then realized that it actually explained a lot. The basic premise felt broadly reminiscent of Lilo & Stitch , and there was at least one sequence that definitely recalled How to Train Your Dragon , both of which Sanders co-directed with Dean Deblois (executive producer on this film). With his latest offering for Dreamworks, Sanders cements his position as a titan in the world of animation. The movie sees ROZ, a shipwrecked robot stranded on an island completely untouched by humans. One would think that such an Eden would be bereft of the squabbles that humans seem so happy to create, but the animals of the island revile this new intruder and put up every fence they have. The only thing on this rock that doesn'
Stop me if you've heard this before about slasher films, in or out of the Scream franchise: "Don't overthink it. It's just a scary movie." What an insulting thought for anyone who's ever found themselves in the throes of a gripping horror film. Good slasher films, like the original Scream , look honestly at the thing that scares us most and gives it a face. They know that the point of the slasher isn't in the chasing or the stabbing, but the unmasking. The overcoming of the thing that scares you. Good slasher films "overthink" it. I'm grateful to report that the directors of the newest Scream film, Matt Bettinelli-Olpin and Tyler Gillett, not only understand this principle, they embrace it wholly. In doing so, they may have created a sequel that not only meets but surpasses the film it tries to emulate. Twenty-five years after Sidney Prescott's first encounter with Ghostface, we meet Sam Carpenter, a native of
Loyal readers may remember last month when I talked about Sidney Poitier and Elizabeth Hartman in A Patch of Blue and how I casually alluded to the larger framework of disability within film and promised to talk about it one day. Well, this isn’t like with my Disney Princess series where I teased the project for years before finally getting to it. I’m making good on that promise here today. You’re welcome. Now, when I say “disability within film,” that’s a really large slice of the pie. The discussion of disability in Hollywood is a vast and complex field of study. There’s obviously overlap across the broader discussion, but people of different disabilities experience ableism differently, similar to how members of different ethnic identities experience racism differently, and it’s a machine that has to be dismantled on multiple fronts. But with this piece, I’m not so interested in airing all the ways the industry has let down members of these communities. Today, I’d mostly li
In early 2017, Variety ran a piece titled “ Will Musicals See a ‘La La Land’ Boost ?” alongside said movie’s victory lap around the box office and critics at large. Justin Paul, who wrote the music for La La Land alongside his partner, Benj Pasek, was optimistic about the doors his movie was opening: “I have to believe that other studios, other producers, would only be encouraged by the impact of ‘La La Land,’ both critically and at the box office.” Their agent, Richard Kraft, shared a similar sentiment. “I think people are growing tired of snark and skepticism and pessimism. [La La Land] hit the zeitgeist for smart and unapologetic optimism. Even in times of strife and conflict, people still fall in love and follow dreams.” These are the kinds of statements that don’t go unnoticed by a musical nerd who chose to write his semesterly report on Meet Me in St. Louis when all his fellow film students wrote on Woody Allen. Classical musicals had always just been that gateway into c
The 1990s was a relatively stable period of time in American history. We weren’t scared of the communists or the nuclear bomb, and social unrest for the most part took the decade off. The white-picket fence ideal was as accessible as it had ever been for most Americans. Domesticity was commonplace, mundane even, and we had time to think about things like the superficiality of modern living. It's in an environment like this that a movie like Sam Mendes' 1999 film American Beauty can not only be made but also find overwhelming success. In 1999 this film was praised for its bold and honest insight into American suburban life. The Detroit News Film Critic called this film “a rare and felicitous movie that brings together a writer, director and company perfectly matched in intelligence and sense of purpose” and Variety hailed it as “a real American original.” The film premiered to only a select number of screens, but upon its smashing success was upgraded to
Maybe. The answer is maybe. Not wanting to be that guy who teases a definitive answer to a difficult question and forces you to read a ten-page essay only to cop-out with a non-committal excuse of an answer, I’m telling you up and front the answer is maybe. Though nations have long warred over this matter of great importance, the film itself does not answer once and for all whether or not Joel Barrish and Clementine Krychinzki find lasting happiness together at conclusion of the film Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Min d. I cannot give a definitive answer as to whether Joel and Clementine’s love will last until the stars turn cold or just through the weekend. This essay cannot do that. What this essay can do is explore the in-text evidence the film gives for either side to help you, the reader, understand the mechanics, merits, and blindspots of either interpretation of the ending. It can also reveal the underlying assumptions of either
I remember back when I reviewed A Quiet Place Part II , the thing that was on my mind a world crawling out of a global pandemic. I now dive into Michael Sarnoski's newest take on the mythology with A Quiet Place: Day One having just this morning heard the news that a certain convicted felon is being granted immunity for his involvement in trying to overthrow democracy, and I am left wondering (not for the first time) what surviving in a world that already balances on borrowed time even means. This is more or less the mindset of the film's protagonist, Sam, a terminally ill cancer patient who was already done with existing well before killer aliens started dropping out from the sky. The only things she cares about in the world are her "emotional support" cat, Frodo, and getting a taste of some proper New York pizza before this cancer takes her, alien invasion or not! While the rest of the city is running off to catch the last boat off Manhattan, she just digs deeper
The modern push for the movie musical tends to favor a modern sound--songs with undertones of rap or rock. It must have taken director Joe Wright a special kind of tenacity, then, to throw his heart and soul into a musical project (itself a bold undertaking) that surrenders to pure classicalism with his new film Cyrano . Whatever his thought process, it's hard to argue with the results. With its heavenly design, vulnerable performances, and gorgeous musical numbers, the last musical offering of 2021 (or perhaps the first of 2022) is endlessly enchanting. Cyrano de Bergerac's small stature makes him easy prey for the scorn and ridicule of the high-class Victorian society, but there has yet to be a foe that he could not disarm with his sharp mind and even sharper tongue. The person who could ever truly reject him is Roxanne, his childhood friend for whom he harbors love of the most romantic variety. Too afraid to court Roxanne himself, he chooses to use the handsome but t
I’ve said before that the public discourse around the current parade of live-action Disney remakes has been very contentious. Trying to have a civil conversation about the potential creative merits is something of an uphill battle. In most cases, this is just the general opposition to Hollywood’s penchant for repackaged material, but the mess does spill into other conversations. Take the casting announcement of Halle Bailey in the role of the upcoming remake of The Little Mermaid . When Disney announced on July 3, 2019 that the highly coveted role of Ariel would go to an African-American actress, you saw a lot of excitement from crowds championing fair representation. You also saw a lot of outrage, most clear in the trending hashtag #NotMyAriel. I hear a lot of people shouting that “Ariel has been white for two-hundred years. Why change that all the sudden?” But the fact is she hasn’t even “been Ariel” for that long. “Ariel” is the name the merma
Legendary film critic Roger Ebert gave the following words in July of 2005 at the dedication of his plaque outside the Chicago Theatre: Nights of Cabiria (1957) “For me, movies are like a machine that generates empathy. If it’s a great movie, it lets you understand a little bit more about what it’s like to be a different gender, a different race, a different age, a different economic class, a different nationality, a different profession, different hopes, aspirations, dreams and fears. It helps us to identify with the people who are sharing this journey with us. And that, to me, is the most noble thing that good movies can do and it’s a reason to encourage them and to support them and to go to them.” Ebert had been reviewing films for coming on forty years when he gave that assessment. I haven’t been doing it for a tenth as long. I don’t know if I’ve really earned the right to ponder out loud what the purpose of a good film is. But film critics new and old don’t need much
Comments
Post a Comment