Review: Winnie the Pooh

This review originally published at Filmwell, a blog of The Other Journal.

Oh Simple Thing
Dir. Stephen J. Anderson, Don Hall
2011

The advertising campaign for Disney's new Winnie the Pooh film is genius. I am convinced it was devised by a pack of hip interns-- who else would think it was a good idea to use the melancholy soft-rock of Keane in a trailer for a children's film? But as the chords of "Somewhere Only We Know" start to pound over the image of Pooh and Friends marching across a bridge, it hits you right in the gut-- or at least it's supposed to. "Admit it," we are beckoned by the television spots (in Helvetica, no less!). "You miss them." Oh, how you know us, hip Disney interns! Winnie the Pooh knows it will not be able to grab today's ADHD children in a twenty second commercial, with its soft coloring and mild manners. No, instead it aims upward, at literate young parents desperate to instill a sense of taste in their children, children buffeted every day by the frenzied snark of sugar cereal ads. "Oh simple thing, where have you gone," goes the song, played over glimpses of the Hundred Acre Wood. "I'm getting old and I need something to rely on."

While this Winnie the Pooh seems to be something of a "reboot" of the series, it's not as if the bear has been on hiatus. We may associate Pooh's pop culture presence with the Disney films of the sixties and seventies, but he has also had a syndicated series through the nineties, several theatrical and DVD releases in the last decade, and untold volumes of merchandise hawked in Disney's parks. Pooh, as an idea, never really went away. But as the franchise edged closer to irrelevance, it seemed to get more desperate-- the characters became ever more bright and plastic, culminating in the sacrilege of a computer-animated series on Playhouse Disney made to ape the likes of "Dora the Explorer." In this light, Winnie the Pooh functions as a reclaiming of the series, a decided stand against the hyper devolution of children's entertainment.

Continued at Filmwell...

 

  

Review: Despicable Me

Pure Squee-vil 

Dir. Pierre Coffin, Chris Renaud 2010 

Postmodern pop art has been dealing in anti-heroes for decades. It’s almost strange now to root for a regular old hero, a la Superman. Children’s films are an interesting place to look for hero mythology, because these stories are, ideally, supposed to play a role in the development of the next generation. While Disney and Pixar hold down the fort of traditional heroism, DreamWorks has been making thoroughly postmodern children’s films for the last decade, beginning with Shrek. David Denby of the New Yorker chastises DreamWorks’ methodology, which he claims has “children being entertained with derision before they’ve been ravished by awe.” Children’s films are, supposedly, where we set up archetypes that can later be broken down and questioned, but not before coming of age. But DreamWorks positions itself diametrically opposed to Pixar’s style, sacrificing soul for quick jokes, pop culture references, and satire. And here we have “Despicable Me,” a film with a premise right in the heart of the witty deconstruction: we root for the bad guy. The DreamWorks mold has its limitations when it comes to heartfelt storytelling, but “Despicable Me” is an example of what this genre gets right: it’s smart, hilarious, and self-conscious without giving in to pure snark. But it loses out to Pixar by replacing true emotion with the cutesy. 

At the center of the madcappery at work is Steve Carell’s Gru, our polygonal, Russian-accented would-be fiend. He’s just trying to get a foothold in the evil genius market, but he’s thwarted at every turn by an obnoxious rival, Vector. Vector’s gleaming white array of gadgets looks straight from the Apple Store, and Gru’s more modest means can’t earn him the villain status he craves. So when a trio of orphan girls crosses his path, he schemes up a way to use them for his most dastardly plot of all. It's all very predicable, but it unfolds so gleefully that you never mind. 

“Despicable Me” is old-school visual comedy, hearkening back to the days where comics contained the barest of captions. As the camera shows us around Gru’s house, we are greeted with wall-to-wall visual puns and gags, details we might miss without paying attention. The colors are bright, the features are exaggerated; this is more cartoon than “animated feature.” The chase scenes and effect-less violence call the Looney Toons to mind. It’s great fun, and nice to see a film where the comedy is not stuffed to the brim with fart jokes or pop culture references. 

 The superhero genre continues to be done and overdone, with parodies to spare. “Despicable Me” follows in this tradition, but its focus on the villain is an under-explored angle (though not for long, with “Megamind” being released hot on this one’s heels). What kind of antihero is Gru? What’s the difference between him and an average Super Protagonist? Obviously, he’s “evil,” but what does that mean? In the context of the film, not a lot. Gru just wears a black hat. He’s a bad guy. That’s what he does. Duh. Who needs some complex “motivation”? It’s actually quite a clever send-up of Disney villains, arbitrary “bad guys” signaled with a malevolent laugh but lacking any substance or motive, like Bowser from the Mario Bros. Oh, it’s time to kidnap Peach again, is it? Gru’s just an average villain trying to advance in his career, and any “evil” in the film is misleading. It turns out being a villain pretty much comes down to stealing the biggest thing possible, or simple inconsideration (e.g. cutting in the Starbucks line). 

So how postmodern is “Despicable Me”? It does depict “evil” in a very arbitrary way; evil is more of a lifestyle choice or career move than anything else. A clever scene has villains taking out loans at the bank for their next evil venture, a sly nod to the economic climate of our times. We will always have stories of villain’s hearts being changed by an innocent influence. But Gru’s decision at the end feels less like rejecting evil, and more like rejecting selfishness or loneliness. It’s not highly moral, but it doesn’t ruffle the viewer too much. 

“Despicable Me” isn’t attempting psychological analysis of movie villains. It’s all about the premise, a kind of messed up Mr. Mom affair: Dude, wouldn’t it be awesome if we stuck one of those movie villains with a bunch of cute little girls in his house? But really, a lot of great films start out with “Dude, wouldn’t it be awesome if--,” and the movie largely delivers on the promised hilarity. The jokes are quick and big, and it’s very stylistically sophisticated. But the biggest presence in the film is actually the all-consuming cuteness. Never before have I seen a film so single-minded in its mission to offer its audience cute in such concentrated measures. Little Agnes, the youngest of the orphans, could easily beat out Pixar’s Boo and Bonnie with one pigtail. It’s pure joy to watch. Gru’s minions, round, yellowy little guys, are so full of spunk and personality, it’s hard to know where to look. It’s engineered for constant smiling, but never comes off as syrupy, because it’s nestled in a movie of wit and alleged malevolence. But the question is, does cute count as “heart”? Up to a point. There was a small moment that was genuinely touching, but overall, the film makes up for its predictability with an endless barrage of sugar that goes down wonderfully but doesn't leave much to reflect on later. 

 In the hands of Pixar, “Despicable Me” might have explored a deep emotional place in Gru, finding out where he would connect with these kids. It might have explored the moral ramifications of Gru’s actions, using the girls to show him what he ought to value in life. But, as is, “Despicable Me” is no morality tale, no story of evil overcome by virtue. It’s crankiness met with the sheer force of adorable. Actually, it’s not unlike “UP” in that way. But where “UP” ends with a wistful, sweet fadeaway, “Despicable Me” ends with a funky dance number. What did you expect? 

Myth: 

A villain’s melted heart 

Reformation by influence of children 

Adopted Orphans 

Moral: 

People ought to let other people in their lives 

The one with the most toys doesn’t always win 

Zeitgeist Factor: 

Being DreamWorks, there is a great amount of cultural awareness present. From satire of tacky tourists to the difficulty of securing a loan, the film shows us lots of little scenarios cut from American life. Ultimately, the movie taps into one of America’s favorite sentiments of the moment, that Juno-style sour-but-sweet feel. We’re too cynical to accept a straight fairy tale, but too tenacious to reject a sweet little hope inside the sarcasm.

3.5/5

   

Toy Story 3

Growing Up
Dir. Lee Unkrich
2010

There are a few categories of “three-quels.” There are adaptations of a book in a series, which naturally call for a third film to correspond to a third volume (Return of the King, The Twilight Saga: Eclipse). There are film sets created with three in mind, notably including the Star Wars films. Of course there are the rampant, creatively bankrupt attempts to cash in on a franchise with a tacked-on, irrelevant film (Pirates of the Caribbean 3, Jurassic Park 3, Spy Kids 3, etc.). The final, and rarest, category of three-quel is the unexpected success, the film that is not necessary per se but reworks the franchise formula to bring about closure for the characters. This category could include films such as Back to the Future 3 and High School Musical 3 (Spider-Man 3 wishes it could be included). Count Toy Story 3 in as the newest and strongest Sequel We Didn’t Know We Needed.

It’s not as if we couldn’t have seen it coming. Toy Story 2, though a sweet, funny film, put forth an essential dilemma for its characters, one that was only partially resolved in its finale. Is it better to live forever without relationships, or to take joy in what we know is impermanent? At the end of the previous film, protagonist Woody decided that it was best to forgo the cold immortality of the museum in favor of a warm (but temporary) life with his owner, Andy. The choice was made, and audiences smiled over the credits. But there was a poignant thought lurking underneath: what are the consequences? What happens in ten years? Toy Story 3 takes what could have been a throwaway musing and creates a film around it. The premise is obvious, picking up thematically exactly where the franchise left off: Andy is going to college. The toys don’t know what lies in the next phase of life: “We’re done! Over the hill!” Mr. Potatohead moans. What follows is a moral and comic odyssey as Woody and Co. chase down a new place to call home, revisiting the “mission” structure of the previous films while getting to the heart of the series’ issues of purpose, belonging and relationships. The toys mistakenly think that Andy has abandoned them, and agree to relocate to Sunnyside Daycare Center, a candy-colored establishment with a dark underbelly. As the characters uncover a totalitarian plot to keep them in line, the film turns into a prison break, with some twists along the way. As the film progresses, we learn that the politics of Sunnyside have a lot to do with the issues of abandonment that the protagonists are also experiencing. Though there are many fun asides, the people at Pixar know what they are doing, and nothing is thematically out of place.

In some ways, the film is a piece of calculated nostalgia. It begins with an effervescent “play” scene that calls to mind the opening of the first film. It moves into a montage of camcorder footage of Andy playing with the toys, complete with “You’ve Got a Friend in Me” in the background. Character-wise, there are few new developments, and most wear the hats they have worn in the past. Woody is doggedly loyal, and skeptical of any changes in the status quo. Buzz finds himself again with an altered view of reality. Though the movie does deal with profound questions, the packaging is largely the same: the toys find themselves in a place that is not home, and go on a mission to get back there. The inventiveness comes in the riffs and little touches that happen within the formula, which are delightful and copious. The animators outdo themselves with the new toys we meet, which are full of the details of wear and tear; frayed hair, tags sticking out, faded colors. The small moments impress: Woody’s flailing run, his keeping atop a roll of toilet paper, or getting caught on his pull string. The voice acting is brilliant as always. The movie is punctuated by sight gags and chase scenes (as are many Pixar films), the stuff that makes it to the trailer. And it’s all rewarding. Especially tickling is the developing relationship between Barbie and Ken, the comic gift that keeps on giving. Pixar makes sure to give us the whole Toy Story experience, from the jokes to the characters to the structure.

And yet, there is something different here. We must remember that Toy Story 2 came out before we expected any kind of profundity from Pixar films, and its theme of abandonment and belonging was unexpected for a “kids’ movie.” Jessie’s mid-film ballad about her previous owner was a unique moment at the multiplex, an emotionally complex tearjerker that was on a different level of kiddie film heartbreak than Bambi’s mom getting killed. Sure, the movie was full of toy-store gags and chases in plastic cars, but at its core it was about the very purpose of a toy (or as Aristotle would say, its final cause). In the end of that film, the toys decided that the purpose of a toy was to be loved and played with. Toy Story 3 takes that decision and puts it in a crisis (as all effective plots should), and the stakes feel very high, and the question feels very adult.

Toy Story 3 is about life transitions, and how people deal with the pain of moving on. Andy is going somewhere new, the toys are going somewhere new, and presumably, so are we. The movie shows us the consequences of our responses to change, whether for good or for ill. Toy Story 3 is a return to form for Pixar, and it does sacrifice some of the innovation of the recent films in favor of a familiar structure. But it pulls no punches with regard to the philosophy it began to develop in the second film. It is a bit melancholy for that, but certainly finds its joy in the end. The denouement is richly satisfying, a conclusion that feels absolutely complete and stops short of outright sentimentality. By the end, we have been on a journey that has led us to reevaluate our choices, our attachments, and what it means to call something home.

We probably would have been all right without Toy Story 3. It’s another Pixar confection that follows the form of its predecessors. And I hope there will not be a fourth to spoil the impeccable wrap-up. But if there is anything we can learn from this third outing, it is that Pixar takes itself seriously as a maker of moral films. By moral, I do not mean the moralizing that most “family films” resort to, spewing out obvious messages about “being yourself.” I mean that the studio consistently puts out movies that wrestle with the meaning of life and relationships. They consistently face their characters with real choices. They mean what they say, and follow their ideas through each film. And they consistently capture the American imagination by doing it. Rarely has a sequel delved so deeply into the consequences of the happily ever after it created for itself. We may not have asked for this film, but damned if we didn’t need it.

Myth:
The issue of immortality (as the toys outlive their usefulness to their owners)
Moving to a strange land

Moral:
The extent of loyalty
The response to a great change

Zeitgeist Factor:
There is a tendency in all of us to long for simpler times, and this movie shows us that while we may never have things as they were, they can still be good, albeit in a different way. Like many Pixar films, this one aspires more to be timeless than to capture any kind of modern spirit. Perhaps giving up old ties will always be seen as a liberal theme, with Woody as the conservative, unwilling convert. The film is especially poignant to the internet-age kids who saw the first one as children and are now undergrads.