Decent Films Blog
Writing about film, I sometimes say, can be a little education in just about everything. But watching movies can be a miseducation in just about everything. Even fact-based films are often, even usually, unreliable guides to their subject matter.
This week’s Spotlight piece is a review of the Australian comedy The Dish. You will be charmed to learn from this film that over 40 years ago, when the whole world watched as Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin broadcast to Houston from the moon, signals from the Eagle were received not from Houston itself, which was facing away from the moon at the moment, but from a giant radio telescope dish in a sheep paddock in Parkes, Australia.
What you won’t learn is that the Parkes dish wasn’t the only Australian facility receiving that signal — and that the signal used to relay Armstrong’s famous first words wasn’t from the dish. It was from the Honeysuckle Creek tracking station outside Canberra, where a high-gain antenna had been built specifically for the Apollo project. A third facility, the Goldstone Observatory in the Mojave Desert in California, was also used.
With three facilities, there was enough redundancy that no one facility was as critical as The Dish suggests. In fact, for the first few minutes of the Eagle broadcast NASA focused on the Honeysuckle and Goldstone signals, looking for the best quality images. When they tried the Parkes dish signal, it was clearly the best, so the Parkes pictures were used for the rest of the broadcast.
The Dish mentions the Goldstone facility, but largely ignores the Honeysuckle Creek facility — a point that is evidently felt with some bitterness by some members of the Honeysuckle team. (The Parkes team’s version of the story is somewhat different.)
It’s easy to see why The Dish basically acts as if the Honeysuckle antenna didn’t exist, and that when the Goldstone was lost and high winds at Parkes jeopardized the dish signal (both of which actually happened), the broadcast was in jeopardy (which evidently wasn’t the case): It makes a better story.
Plus, a dish is a lot more photogenic than an antenna. You can’t play cricket on an antenna.
In any case, The Dish is a charming film, and it does get quite a bit of the history and period detail right. If you haven’t seen it, you should.
P.S. The dish is 64 meters across. That’s big, but not as big as a football field … regardless which kind of football the movie had in mind.
Edith Stein, Saint Teresa Benedict of the Cross, wrote her doctoral dissertation and other treatises on empathy.
The implicit complaint is the same: In a marketplace glutted with mass-produced product that’s all fizz and no substance, it’s hard to find a hand-crafted product of distinction and local flavor, the kind of product that surprises and challenges you, that engenders real enthusiasm and loyalty. Real Ale is not carbonated or carefully crafted to taste just like every other mass-market brew. Ebert writes:
[Real Movies] also would not be carbonated by CGI or 3D. They would be carefully created by artists, from original recipes, i.e., screenplays. Each movie would be different. There would be no effort to force them into conformity with commercial formulas.
These notions took shape while I was viewing some well-made Real Movies I’ve seen this year at Cannes … These aren’t all masterpieces, although some are, but they’re all Real Movies. None follows a familiar story arc. All involve intense involvement with their characters. All do something that is perhaps the most important thing a movie can do: They take us outside our personal box of time and space, and invite us to empathize with those of other times, places, races, creeds, classes and prospects. I believe empathy is the most essential quality of civilization.
That paean to empathy might sound like an overstatement, but St. Edith Stein arguably goes further in her dissertation On the Problem of Empathy and subsequent treatises, arguing that empathy is foundational to personhood and community, to knowledge of others and even knowledge of the self. It is through empathy that the experiences of others become available to us while remaining theirs and not ours. Through empathy I transcend the limits of my own subjectivity and become aware of the subjectivity of another—and understand that my own subjectivity can likewise be the object of another’s empathy. Not only do I gain insight into others from how they perceive themselves, I can also learn from how others see me things about myself I would never otherwise know.
What does this have to do with movies, and with Ebert’s lament for Real Movies? Mainstream Hollywood entertainment, like mass-marketed brews, offer us essentially nothing we haven’t already assimilated long ago. Such movies show us only what we have seen before, tell us only what we already know. Instead of a window into another soul or another world, they offer only a mirror of our existing tastes or (worse) comfort levels. The sequel phenomenon is symptomatic of this. Not that a sequel can’t be surprising and revelatory, but that’s not why sequels get green-lit. They get green-lit because most people are readier to pay for what they already know.
That’s true in spades of mass-market entertainment like this weekend’s Shrek Forever After. But it’s also true of not a few pious movies favored by many in Catholic and Evangelical circles. Many of us are only interested in movies that tell us only what we already know and want to hear: moral messages we already agree with, diagnoses and solutions we already accept for problems we already know about.
Nothing necessarily wrong with that, as far as it goes. Obviously we don’t want to be lining up for movies with moral messages we disagree with! But it’s more complicated than that. I think of a story my mother tells about my father’s early days as a Protestant pastor (he’s a Catholic today) at a church where leading congregants wanted to hear sermons about sin—but only the sins of the younger generation (this was the 1960s). Not sins like gossip, for instance.
A homilist who tells me only what I already know and want to hear does me little good. It’s what I don’t know, and what I don’t know I don’t know, that I most need to hear. For that matter, a movie reviewer that only affirms my existing comfort levels for the kinds of things I like or don’t like in movies does me little good.
A movie is not a homily. What is it? Among other things, a real movie should be an opportunity to see through other eyes. Not first of all the eyes of fictional characters, if it’s a fictional film, but the eyes of the filmmakers. If (and this is a big if) the filmmakers have brought empathy to their movie, if they have looked through the eyes of others and creatively expressed that insight in their characterizations of fictional characters (or their handling of real events), then the film offers an opportunity to share in that empathic experience.
If the filmmakers haven’t brought empathy to their movie, very likely it isn’t worth watching. Nothing is more likely to secure my distrust of a serious adult drama than a clear lack of empathy for a major character, or for a class of characters.
Empathy doesn’t mean excusing bad behavior because the person meant well, or had a bad childhood, or whatever. It does mean understanding that the lowest scoundrel is not a demon or a monster, but a man like ourselves—and perhaps, by understanding the nature of his transgressions, gaining insight into our own capacity for selfishness.
Ebert gave examples from Cannes of the kind of Real Movies he was talking about. I recently saw a Real Movie opening this weekend in New York and LA: Solitary Man, directed by Brian Koppelman and David Levien from Koppelman’s screenplay. Not a movie about another culture or time, it is nevertheless about a world far removed from most of us.
Solitary Man stars Michael Douglas as a man so venal, egocentric and dissolute that to empathize with him might seem almost a temptation to be resisted rather than an occasion of insight and compassion. A disgraced former car dealership mogul whose rapacious behavior has torpedoed his career and his marriage, Ben Kalmen is a compulsive salesman whose first and only product line is himself, and everything is always about making the pitch and closing the deal, especially in the presence of attractive women half or even a third of his age.
Surely a man like this should be censured, not understood? Surely a movie that invites us to see the human side of this contemptible creature is a contemptible film? Or, if not contemptible, at least gratuitously unpleasant, rubbing our noses in depravity to no redemptive end? Or is it, on the other hand, a morality play? An “aging-Lothario-gets-his-comeuppance number,” as David Edelstein put it?
The potential pitfalls are real, and Solitary Man is frank enough about Ben Kalmen’s sleazy inner world to be off-putting to some. But there’s more to it than that. There is empathy not only for Ben but also for those whom he variously uses, wrongs or lets down; we see Ben through the eyes of others as well as through his own, and from this multifaceted perspective emerge larger truths. I’m particularly struck by Ben’s grown daughter struggling to be a daughter to a man who is rotten at being a father (and grandfather) while also protecting her son and being loyal to her husband and to her mother. Then there’s Danny DeVito, embodying decency as an old friend of Ben’s, an unassuming diner owner whose shoe Ben isn’t worthy to untie.
Solitary Man takes some unexpected turns before coming to a crucial fork in the road, a moment of clarity that comes when someone barreling down a one-way road is abruptly faced with a clear choice: to continue or to change direction. In a typical Hollywood confection, the ending would be all what happens as a result of the choice Ben makes for him and everyone else. In Solitary Man, it’s the clarity that matters. We see the truth about who Ben is and why, and what it means for him and those around him. We see the stakes, and so does he.
Shrek Forever After also involves a protagonist who lets down those closest to him for reasons not unlike Ben’s. It’s not a bad movie, in a flattish Coke sort of way. It’s inoffensive and mildly amusing, and in the end you’re the same person you were 93 minutes earlier, with not much to talk about coming out of the theater.
Goro Miyazaki’s Tales From Earthsea opens August 13.
Beauty, loss, longing, mystery: Fans of Tolkien might reach for such language in describing the power of Middle-earth. They are not words that many Americans naturally associate with animation. American animation typically means humor, slapstick, sentiment, and perhaps a positive message about family or believing in yourself.
Only Pixar rises significantly above that level. The Incredibles and Up are among the most emotionally affecting movies I’ve ever seen. But there’s something that myth does that we don’t find even there. Perhaps WALL-E comes close to “ripping open the inconsolable secret,” as C. S. Lewis put it in “Till We Have Faces”—to awakening us to awe and spiritual hunger for something beyond the scope of the mundane. If so, it’s just about the only American animated film I can think of that does.
Now consider the preview below for an animated film coming to American theaters in August. I know that my readers include numerous fans of Japanese animation master Hayao Miyazaki, so the director’s name will be familiar to many—although it’s a Miyazaki we’ve never seen before. The film is the directorial debut of the great director’s son, Goro Miyazaki. (The elder Miyazaki’s last film, last summer’s Ponyo, featured a young protagonist based on the young Goro.) As with other recent Studio Ghibli films, Tales From Earthsea is being distributed stateside by Walt Disney Pictures. Disney hasn’t released an English trailer yet, but the Japanese trailer is well worth watching.
Visually at least, Tales From Earthsea looks like vintage Studio Ghibli: an ambitious exercise in world-building (or “sub-creation” as Tolkien called it), with striking images of half-ruined architectural splendor, derelict ships on desert sands, bucolic landscapes, water and light, clouds and sky, and the joy of flight.
Intriguingly from an American perspective, the trailer features no dialogue or voiceover narration (or almost none), and characters and plot points are given secondary importance. Instead, the trailer is dominated by a haunting, elegiac-sounding melody sung a lone female voice, intially a capella, complemented by poetic subtitles:
The balance of the world is collapsing … People bustle from place to place but without any sense of purpose … Their minds are fixed on far-off dreams or on death, and what they see with their eyes is not of this world … People are beginning to go mad … What cannot be seen is most important.
In the United States, this qualifies as art-house cinema. In Japan, Tales From Earthsea opened at the top of the box office and stayed there for five straight weeks. The elder Miyazaki’s animated films are also box-office heavyweights—bigger than Pixar in America. Spirited Away actually sank James Cameron’s Titanic at the Japanese box office, becoming the highest grossing film in Japanese history.
I don’t know whether Tales From Earthsea will live up to the promise of its trailer. (Critical response in Japan and elsewhere has been mixed.) From what little I’ve read (I’m trying to stay spoiler-free), the film is apparently about as faithful to Ursula LeGuin’s Earthsea stories as the elder Miyazaki’s Howl’s Moving Castle was to Diana Wynn Jones, which is scarcely at all. (Before anyone asks: Yes, I’m familiar with what Michael O’Brien has written about LeGuin, and yes, I have reservations about her too, though I haven’t read the Earthsea stuff. Whatever issues may affect the Earthsea books, and whether the film is or is not affected by these issues, or by other ones entirely, are all questions beyond the scope of this post.)
My point here is simply this: Here is a mainstream Japanese animated film with a trailer that has an evocative, haunting power that eludes virtually the whole of American animation—and that’s just the trailer. And it’s not just American animation either, but pretty much the whole Hollywood machine. What was the last Hollywood box-office blockbuster that made you think of beauty, loss, longing and mystery? (Yes, other than The Lord of the Rings.)
Whether this particular film turns out to be good or not, it’s part of a cinematic culture that aims at, and sometimes achieves, something that isn’t even on the radar in Hollywood. This trailer reminds me of how I felt during the first five minutes of Howl’s Moving Castle, even though the film ultimately turned out to be a disappointment: Just the promise of the first five minutes, even a promise unfulfilled, was worth more than some American animation studios have delivered in whole films if not their entire outputs.
One might expect Americans to throng to these rare films like thirsty camels to a desert oasis (even if the water were less than pristine). Surely, beauty, loss, longing and mystery are universal. But no, we barely notice them. We apparently prefer animated sequels featuring computer-animated funny ogres or prehistoric animal comedy trios. (The Japanese flock to these too, but somehow they manage to have an appetite for both.)
I honestly don’t know why that is. It can’t be that the “mere trousered ape” is so much more prevalent in the US than abroad. Can it?
Here is a question: Will Disney’s forthcoming English-language trailer have the same elegiac, poetic power as the Japanese trailer? I wouldn’t count on it.
This week, coinciding with the theatrical release of Shrek Forever After, a pair of DreamWorks Animation productions get budget one-disc DVD rereleases (under $10). Despite the explicit marketing tie-in (“From the studio that brought you Shrek”), both films are traditional hand-drawn cel animation with nothing to connect them to Shrek in look or in spirit.
Neither did well at the box office, but one did better with the critics than the other — the wrong one, in my opinion. Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas was dismissed by the critics, but I think it’s a remarkably effective animated swashbuckler that’s a lot of fun and more thoughtful than one might expect. My short review, from a DVD capsule, doesn’t do it justice; I’d like to expand it this week but I don’t know if I’ll have time.
Critics were kinder to the previous year’s Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron. I caught Spirit at a theatrical sneak peek with my family. Boy, was I sorry afterward I had brought them, especially seven-year-old Sarah, who I think was pretty shell-shocked by the film.
Fortunately, Sarah (now 15) has gotten a great deal of enjoyment from the scathing review I wrote as a result, a “gimmick” essay featuring an imaginary dialogue between a DreamWorks exec and his child. (The exec is specified as “Daddy” because I needed the cue to keep the speakers clear. The child could be a boy or a girl, but I imagine it as a girl, perhaps because of Sarah.) At any rate, it’s still one of my favorites.
I would like to think that the time and energy I’ve devoted over the last ten years to Catholic film criticism—work I’ve always seen as an apostolate to families and individual moviegoers, especially Catholics but also non-Catholics and non-Christians—has contributed in a small way to the kingdom of God. I’m still a little taken aback at how some Catholics seem to feel in effect that the whole endeavor is basically pointless, since movies are such a complete wasteland that there is little or no value in trying to discern good from bad and it would be better simply to wash our hands of the whole business.
Here’s a comment from a combox awhile back on a post mentioning, among other films, Pixar’s Up, WALL-E and Ratatouille:
None of it is worth my or my children’s time. It has been a long, long time since I have found an acceptable movie for my children’s viewing, one that doesn’t make me wince and wish my kids hadn’t seen that … Actually, I’m glad for the demise of family TV and movie entertainment because it has led us to allow very little TV and movie watching in our home. We never go to the movie theater.
Suffice to say, reports of “the demise of family TV and movie entertainment” are greatly exaggerated. But if it were true, would it be a matter of celebration?
The Vatican II decree Inter Mirifica states that “young people” especially need “entertainment that offer them decent amusement and cultural uplift.” While “entertainment” doesn’t necessarily mean movies, the decree specifically says that “films that have value as decent entertainment, humane culture or art, especially when they are designed for young people, ought to be encouraged and assured by every effective means”—including “critical approval and awards.”
Does that sound like encouragement to celebrate the demise of family movies? Some, though, wonder whether it’s possible to find decent entertainment in movies today. From a more recent combox:
I have stopped going to theatres to see what used to [be] called family [e]ntertainment … Just don’t go the movies.
I just do not go to films. Our youngest is 17 and it is hard to find a movie that is good to watch, even at that age.
Are there any movies being produced that are really worth going to a theater to watch? If Hollywood cannot make decent movies, stop supporting the immorality and questionable actions. Why fill you mind and your children’s mind with garbage? Stop supporting by simply not going to the movies. Find friends for your children who are not exposed to improper and/or immoral themes. (Sadly, such families are easier found in evangelical churches or home school groups than in the Catholic Church in the USA.)
I sympathize with the complaint that it’s hard to find a good movie (that’s part of the reason I started doing what I do). And I respect the choice of those who prefer to “opt out” of any particular level of media consumption, whether it’s going to the movies or using the Internet, as long as it doesn’t lead to judging others who seek to discern what is worthwhile in those media forms as “filling their minds with garbage.”
It’s ironic that one commentator seemed to lament that families “unstained” by movies were more common in Evangelicalism than Catholicism. The fact is, Catholic culture and teaching has always found more room for art and entertainment than many forms of Protestant practice, where the temptation to throw out the baby with the bathwater is an institutional hazard.
From the dawn of cinema, the Catholic Church has consistently expressed concern about the potential moral pitfalls of motion pictures—while also consistently expressing appreciation for cinema’s positive potential and achievements. A few highlights:
Pius XI acknowledged motion pictures as part of “the great gift of art” and a praiseworthy form of diversion and recreation, and Pius XII expressed admiration for the cinema’s power to transport viewers to imaginary worlds and make distant realities present.
John Paul II mentioned cinema in dozens of speeches, with nearly a dozen addresses specifically relating to film. During his pontificate he screened a number of movies, from Roberto Benigni’s Life is Beautiful to Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ.
The 1995 Vatican film list notable for outstanding religious, moral or artistic value. Honorees range from deeply religious and moral films to crime comedy, horror and philosophically and morally complex art-house fare.
The Church’s stance is one of balance, rejecting what is harmful but embracing what is good—“good” being broadly understood to include not only morally edifying works but also wholesome entertainment and diversion as well as artistically significant fare.
Part of this balance includes accepting that discerning between good and bad in cinema, as in other art forms, is a matter where sincere Catholics may disagree. In the wise words of a priest of the Oblates of the Virgin Mary, “The Catholic Church teaches authoritatively, has always taught authoritatively, and will always teach authoritatively, that the visual arts … are a grey area.”
So are a lot of things in this world. Not everything—pornography, for instance, or the Bible. But after a short list of black and whites, there are an awful lot of greys out there.
Some people are suspicious of all “grey areas,” but that’s a mistake. “Grey areas” range from Shakespeare to Dan Brown, Thomas Aquinas to Hans Küng, Benedict XVI to Christopher Hitchens—not to mention this website and every article in it, including this one.
“Grey area” doesn’t mean that everything is equally worthy of suspicion, or that it makes no difference what we embrace or reject. It does mean that there’s no getting around the need to exercise prudential judgment, and that embracing or rejecting anything should be a qualified and critical act.
We speak of the “canon of Western literature,” but unlike the biblical canon, even classics of Western literature, from Aquinas to Shakespeare, aren’t above criticism. (That’s not to say that all criticisms are equally valid!) Conversely, even Küng or Hitchens may have a valid point now and then. (I don’t know if Dan Brown has ever had a valid point, but I wouldn’t dogmatically write off the possibility that he might.)
Pope Benedict isn’t beyond criticism, but I do have great confidence in most of what he writes. I belong to a parish church that is wonderful but not perfect, with a holy and orthodox pastor and a community that includes many good Catholics, some of whom I count as friends. They aren’t perfect, nor am I. If only perfection would do—if I insisted on a perfect church, perfect friends, perfect food and so on—I would die friendless, unchurched and quickly.
The same goes for culture and entertainment, including movies. What movie is so artistically or morally impeccable that it is beyond criticism? That’s not an argument against anyone watching movies, it’s a call to prudential judgment. What is not beyond criticism may be wholesome or not, valuable or not.
Consider the following, from the pastoral instruction Communio et Progressio. Note that, according to Progressio, “artistic and cultural achievements” are among the marks of “progress,” and that “entertainment” is also credited with “cultural validity.”
The Cinema is part of contemporary life. It exerts a strong influence on education, knowledge, culture and leisure. The artist finds in film a very effective means for expressing his interpretation of life and one that well suits his times. … Because of all this, it is possible to derive a deeper appreciation and a richer cultural dividend from the film and filming. …
Many films have compellingly treated subjects that concern human progress or spiritual values. Such works deserve everyone’s praise and support.
If more artists would take children seriously in their work, depicting a world in which all human beings—older than 40, younger than 4—are created equal, we might begin to see children treated with greater care and compassion. We might be more careful with the world they’ll inherit. And we might be humbler, remembering just how dependent we were, once upon a time. We might realize that we will be dependent again on these rising generations, who will determine the shape of the world in which we’ll grow old.
But let’s face it: It’s easy to disregard what remains unseen. It’s easy to stop believing that human beings, in the earliest stages, out of sight and out of mind, are of any consequence.
Quoting generously from my longish Robin Hood review, Carl Olsen of Ignatius Insight Scoop adds:
I’m a little bummed: I had hoped this movie would avoid the politically-correct nonsense of stealing from the rich medieval heritage to feed poor contemporary myths and biases. Silly me.
Which just goes to prove I can never write a review so long that someone else won’t write one sentence that leaves me wishing my review were one sentence longer.
Defying early box-office nay-sayers, Focus Features’ life-affirming documentary Babies opened over Mother’s Day weekend with significantly better ticket sales than originally estimated, thanks to what the website Box Office Mojo is calling (in the idiom of the movie beat) “a huge Mother’s Day bump.”
For the record, I love Babies; my review opens this way:
Everyone should see Babies. Even people who have cats instead of children should see Babies. … Directed by documentary filmmaker Thomas Balmès, who lives in Paris with his wife and three children, Babies is pro-life in the best possible sense: It is a celebration of new life, of love, of family, of the wonder of the world.
Other critics agree: The film scored positively at critical aggregation websites Rotten Tomatoes and Metacritic.com—although not all critics shared the love. Here’s how Peter Sobczynski (eFilmCritic.com) described the film:
“Babies,” on the other hand, is a work that is so vapid and shallow that even the most devoutly Catholic viewers will find themselves agreeing that it never comes close to become a viable film.
Fascinating! There’s absolutely nothing “Catholic” about Babies in terms of content, yet a skeptical critic appeals specifically to Catholic audiences as the natural audience of the film to justify his opinion about the film’s “viability.” (Incidentally, Sobczynski says “on the other hand” in reference to a revolting horror film that also opened this weekend, an astonishing comparison made for reasons so disgusting that I can’t repeat them here.)
Speaking as a “devoutly Catholic viewer” and critic, I’m happy to decline Mr. Sobczynski’s invitation to agree with him: We seem to have very different ideas about the “viability” of films like Babies (and, who knows, perhaps of babies as well).
Most mainstream critics welcomed Babies with open arms. Here is A. O. Scott (The New York Times):
[I]f you love babies you will find it very hard not to love “Babies.” Is it that simple? I mean, who doesn’t love babies? … “Babies” just might restore your faith in our perplexing, peculiar and stubbornly lovable species.
For one of the best and most insightful reviews of the film, see my friend and fellow critic Jeffrey Overstreet’s review (Response). Jeff calls Babies “possibly this year’s most important movie,” writing:
This movie is a welcome relief: It shows us a world in which babies play an important role. That is to say—the real world. …
When was the last time you saw a film in which an infant was something more than comic relief, something better than a diaper-soiling inconvenience to adults? I can think of a few, but only a few.
If more artists would take children seriously in their work, depicting a world in which all human beings—older than 40, younger than 4—are created equal, we might begin to see children treated with greater care and compassion. We might be more careful with the world they’ll inherit. And we might be humbler, remembering just how dependent we were, once upon a time. We might realize that we will be dependent again on these rising generations, who will determine the shape of the world in which we’ll grow old.
But let’s face it: It’s easy to disregard what remains unseen. It’s easy to stop believing that human beings, in the earliest stages, out of sight and out of mind, are of any consequence.
(Don’t stop with that excerpt—read the whole thing!)
Despite my opening sentence, “everyone” didn’t come out to see Babies on opening weekend—but a lot more people came than originally estimated. Estimates placed Babies in a three-way race for 10th place with about $1.6 million. In fact, once actual results were tallied, it turned out that Babies had jumped 57 percent on Sunday, nailing the 9th slot for the weekend with closer to $2.2M. Here’s Box Office Mojo:
Thanks to a huge Mother’s Day bump, documentary Babies opened to $2.16 million, which represented the highest-grossing limited opening in over a year and a half. Distributor Focus Features’ marketing positioned Babies as a Mother’s Day event, and the picture did not disappoint on this front: while Babies fell outside of the Top Ten in its first two days, it experienced a 57 percent increase on Sunday to $1.09 million, which pushed it up to eighth place on the weekend chart. While Babies seems relatively high profile, it only opened at 534 locations, putting it just under the 600 theater threshold separating limited and nationwide releases. Babies’s opening is the best for a limited release since documentary Religulous debuted to $3.41 million at 502 theaters in Oct. 2008.
The question now is whether that “Mother’s Day bump” was a one-day spike, or whether it will deliver improved performance through word of mouth over the next several weeks, giving the film box-office “legs.”
Ebert says these are for “readers who confess they are in the mood to watch a really bad movie on some form of video,” but the reality, I suspect, is that there is just something satisfying about a good takedown. It's why “Mystery Science Theater 3000” is so popular.
Of course, the bigger the target, the more satisfying the takedown. At IMDb.com I learn that the #1 film at the IMDb Bottom 100, the worst film in history according to IMDb.com voters collectively, is … Night Train to Mundo Fine (1966). What? Exactly. It's a movie you have never heard of, unless you saw it, like the IMDb.com voters who voted it to the bottom of the heap, on ”MST3K.”
#91 on the list is Battlefield Earth, or Battlefield Earth: A Saga of the Year 3000 as I learn it is called in full — a movie that is legendary for its badness, deservedly so. A big-budget movie with A-list stars like John Travolta and Forest Whitaker (but for some reason with the not especially well-known Barry Pepper in the protagonist role). It came out in 2000, offering me an early shot at a really scathing review.
How bad is Battlefield Earth? This bad.
Have movie previews gotten to be too much?
Parents have been complaining for years about inappropriate coming attractions playing before movies aimed at younger or more innocent viewers—and it’s getting worse.
Part of the problem is simply more trailers. Enticed by marketing dollars, theater owners are cramming more and more previews in front of movies these days, as a recent Hollywood Reporter article notes.
What used to be two, three or four trailers ten years ago has ramped up to six, seven or even more—so many that marketers and exhibitors are starting to worry about poisoning audiences’ moods before the movie even begins. Plus, packing more trailers on more films only makes inappropriate trailer choices more likely.
In the US, recent changes in the MPAA’s approach to rating trailers have further mystified and complicated the problem, as BeliefNet’s “Movie Mom” Nell Minow (who broke the story last year) recently noted.
Until last year, trailers in American movie theaters were supposed to come in two basic flavors, “green band,” theoretically appropriate for “all audiences,” and “red band,” which could only play with movies rated R or NC-17. In practice, of course, a “green band” trailer for a PG-13 movie wasn’t necessarily appropriate for G-rated audiences. Still, at a basic level you could count on certain kinds of objectionable content not showing up in any green band trailer.
Those days are over. “Green band” trailers are now vaguely approved for “appropriate audiences,” which seems to mean that if you go to a PG-13 film you may see PG-13 content in the trailer—or worse. John Gholson at Cinematical recently noted raunchy humor in “green band” trailers for R-rated films like She’s Out of My League that seems to clearly cross the line into “red band” territory.
Beyond that, not all PG-13 content is created equal. Responsible parents may check out a particular PG-13 film and conclude that the content (fantasy violence, say) is acceptable for their 10-year-old—but then run into a trailer with unacceptably lewd content. Or maybe they’re okay with some bad language in an otherwise gentle film, but then their kid is terrified by a trailer for a scary movie.
These trailers have supposedly been approved for “appropriate audiences”—a rather Orwellian term, as Minow notes. Isn’t it the whole point of PG and PG-13 that parents have to decide when their children are the appropriate audience for something?
Obviously, you can’t please all of the people all of the time. A recent article in Hollywood Reporter complaining about overly intense family-film previews unwittingly made this point with the following dubious example:
I haven’t spoken to one parent who saw the [Alice in Wonderland] trailer before, say, a showing of the feature film Avatar, and said it didn’t scare the stuffing out of the little ones. “My sons are 7 and 9,” one mother told me, and after one look, they decided, “we’ll skip that.”
Uh huh. So we’ve got 7- and 9-year-old boys at a screening of Avatar … but the trailer for Alice in Wonderland was too much for them? Certainly, the Alice trailer is pretty creepy—but it’s also a pretty accurate representation of the film. Anyway, it’s hard to imagine many people finding the Alice trailer overwhelming but really digging Avatar.
Sometimes, though, parents have a better case for industry negligence. Last year, a mother wrote to me to complain about taking her children to see Disney’s Bolt and being subjected to a preview for Coraline.
Coraline is also a creepy film (even creepier than Alice), and the creepiness of the trailer is, again, truth in advertising. But does it belong with Bolt, a funny, sweet action comedy with only mildly menacing and upsetting content? Because you are the target audience for Bolt, does that mean you’re ready to handle the nightmare-inducing potential of even the preview for Coraline?
What’s the solution?
A somewhat drastic approach that may be helpful in some cases is to wait in the theater lobby until the trailers are over and walk into the theater late. (Ask at the box office what time the movie actually starts.) Of course, if it’s a popular movie, good luck finding good seats.
You might solve that problem by waiting several weeks before going to the movie. In the first place, though, that might be hard on your kids if they’re really eager to see the movie; and in the second place, who’s serving who? The industry should adapt to the people’s concerns, not the other way around.
If you do run into an inappropriate trailer, it may be helpful to ask for the manager and voice your concerns. Since many trailers are selected by the exhibitor, not the distributor, this feedback may have a direct effect on future viewing experiences at your local theater.
Then there’s the whole issue of trailers on the Internet, but that’s a problem for another day.
The celebratory media frenzy over the 50th anniversary of The Pill has reached even the pages of Variety, where past editor and current vice president and editorial director Peter Bart has written a strange essay called “‘Sex’ and the summer franchise” (subscription required) that somehow contrives to link a blip in summer movie patterns to five decades of contraception.
Bearing the subtitle “Fifty years ago the Pill changed everything, including the movies,” the essay is an odd mishmash of social commentary predicated on a tenuous entertainment news note: This summer’s movie roster features two (2) chick-flick franchise sequels (the third Twilight movie and a Sex and the City sequel), and only one (1) guy franchise sequel (Iron Man 2).
An unusual state of affairs, certainly, but not much meat to build an article from. Has Hollywood’s guy-centricity changed in any fundamental way? Probably not. And what exactly has this got to do with the Pill? Bart strains to connect the dots:
The Pill celebrated the sexual liberation of women, but 50 years later it has also ushered in an era in which women are paying the bills, delaying the babies and also looking after the sputtering ids and egos of their guys, most of whom have been laid off or never had a job to begin with.
It’s a fascinating trade-off: Controlling your reproductivity means increasing your productivity.
There’s an odd tone of feminist gloating here, as if Bart considers the increased financial pressure on women a small price to pay for the downgrading of the male id and ego. I hadn’t heard, though, that even in these days of 10 percent unemployment (or 17%, or 22%, or whatever adjusted figure you prefer) “most” guys were unemployed if they ever had jobs in the first place. Perhaps it’s only “most” of the guys with whom these luckless career women are saddled? If so, who knew that male unemployability was such a key indicator of success with women?
The first few years of post-Pill America were a time of hubris. Women rejoiced in their sexual freedom and the boys did all they could to help. Businesses started hiring more women because they knew their new recruits wouldn’t automatically start having babies. Women got the message: In the 1970s alone the percentage of women in law schools soared from 10% to 36%.
Translational note: “Hubris” seems to be viewed as a positive thing here. Oh, and why “women” and “the boys”?
Then comes this howler:
A couple of generations later, however, society is at once more liberated and more repressed. Conservatives and evangelicals have decided that contraception weakens the marital bond by separating sex from procreation.
“Conservatives. And. Evangelicals. Have. Decided.”
Bart. What are you smoking? Do you even know any conservatives or Evangelicals? Reading this, I picture you as the polar opposite of The Blind Side’s Tuohy family: “Who would have thought we’d have a black child before we knew a conservative Evangelical?”
Where do you start critiquing all that is wrong with this statement? First, there’s the absurdity of crediting “conservatives and Evangelicals” with recently “deciding” what has always been taught by the largest religious body in the United States, and what every major Protestant tradition affirmed until exactly 70 years ago this year. Second, as a statement about current conservative and Evangelical attitudes toward contraception, it’s about as wrong as it is possible for any statement beginning with the words “conservatives and evangelicals have decided” to be.
The droplet of truth in this ocean of absurdity is that Protestantism by nature is incorrigibly heterogeneous, and very few uncontroversial propositions can be formulated beginning with clauses like “All Protestants believe” or “Evangelicalism unambiguously affirms.” Seventy years after Protestants began defecting from the historic Christian opposition to contraception that previously united Catholics and Protestants, that defection is, to date, not 100 percent absolute. Fringe groups and movements under the Protestant umbrella can be found rejecting contraception (and even natural family planning), such as the Quiverfull movement, which Wikipedia describes as numbering “a few thousand.”
But the massive, overwhelming sociological fact is that conservative Evangelicals have embraced contraception about as wholeheartedly as they’ve embraced anything. Christian rock is more controversial among conservative Evangelicals than contraception. Acceptance of homosexuality is more widespread among self-described Evangelicals than rejection of contraception.
But Bart’s not finished. He goes on:
Thus in Sarah Palin’s America, young people aren’t supposed to talk about sex, just engage in it.
This, of course, is really a dig at Bristol Palin, the culture of death’s poster girl du jour for Christian hypocrisy. The really amazing thing here, though, is how 18 months after the election here we are living in “Sarah Palin’s America.” You’d think the Administration would have done something about that by now. Last I heard, even Sarah Palin’s Alaska was under new management. Way to confirm the Palin Derangement Syndrome stereotype, Bart.
Then there’s this brilliant observation:
Meanwhile marital bonds have weakened, not because of the Pill (the only relevant pill these days is Viagra) but because couples live too g**d*** long. The inventors of marriage were thinking of short-lived peasants, not 90-year-old geriatrics.
Riight. That’s why divorce courts today are jammed with 90-year-old geriatric couples who just can’t take it no more. Thus the famous “hockey stick” graphic showing how divorces rise sharply the longer a couple stays together. Oh wait. No, in this reality, divorces follow a ski slope pattern, with the most divorces occurring in the first five years, then tapering off after that. Yes, there has been an increase in long-term marriages breaking up too, but the steep part of the slope, the early years, is still where the bulk of the increase has occurred.
Still, longevity, not contraception, must be the key factor. It must be because twentysomething newlyweds find themselves looking across the breakfast table asking themselves, “This is fine for now, but can I really live with this person into our geriatric years? It’s not like we’ll both be dead in a decade or two, like short-lived peasants in the good old days.” That’s the ticket.
“The only relevant pill these days is Viagra.” Gosh, I hadn’t heard that oral contraceptives were so irrelevant these days. The pope must be pleased.
Bart wraps up:
Fifty years after the Pill, society is giving off very mixed signals. Sexual freedom was supposed to bring enlightenment. I actually believed that. What was I smoking?
Last week Peter Chattaway blogged an essay on Avatar and religion originally written for Anglican Planet (which is an awesome name for an Anglican periodical on so many levels, although I know nothing else about it).
As always, Chattaway is worth reading in full, but here’s how he begins:
Like me, Chattaway thinks that Ross Douthat was reaching a bit (in what I would otherwise call an excellent column) in calling Avatar a long “apologia for pantheism.” Citing resonances with aspects of Christian belief, from stewardship of creation to the intercession of the saints, Chattaway argues that for “those who can approach the film on its own allegorical level, and with the right kind of discernment, there is definitely something we Christians can work with here.”
James Cameron has given many interviews over the past few months, promoting Avatar and discussing the ground-breaking technology that went into it. He has even defended the film from those who take issue with its politics or its depiction of the military.
But I have yet to see an interview in which anyone encourages Cameron to talk about his religious influences.
This is a shame, as Cameron’s films have often been peppered with religious names, symbols and story elements, and Avatar … represents his most explicitly religious film to date.
This is not to say that the film advocates a specific religion, per se, but it does raise questions that are essentially religious in nature, about our relationship to Creation, to one another, and ultimately to some sort of spiritual reality that is higher than us.
A couple of busy weeks on the air: Next Friday, 5/7, I’ll be doing an hour of Kresta in the Afternoon from 5pm–6pm EDT. Then the following Friday, 5/14, I’ll be back on Catholic Answers Live from 6pm–7pm EDT. (See homepage Spotlight for “listen live” links.)
The big topics for both of these appearances will be Thomas Balmès’s Babies and the new Iron Man 2, both opening on 5/7, over Mother’s Day weekend.
American Mother’s Day, that is. A friend in England wrote this morning to remind me that the UK celebrates Mother’s Day on the fourth Sunday in Lent, also known as Laetare Sunday. (Usage in other countries varies, although it most often falls in May, according to Wikipedia. In Balmès’s native Framce, Mother’s Day falls on the last Sunday in May, unless pre-empted by Pentecost, in which case it moves to June. So there!)
Rereading my ten-year-old essay “Dogma in Dogma” today, it occurs to me that I was basically trying to beat Kevin Smith at his own game, to treat Dogma more or less the same way that the film treats dogma.
When I started Decent Films, one of the first tasks I set myself was to offer a critical defense of the objections of believers to controversial films like Dogma and The Last Temptation of Christ — to respond critically to the films’ defenders, and particularly to their criticism of believers and their objections to the films.
In both of these cases, my strategy was to begin by acknowledging all that could be acknowledged on behalf of the film before going on to nail down where I felt the essential problem lay. In the case of Dogma, it was easier to find things to acknowledge on behalf of the film (such as its satiric jabs at the kind of religious banality represented by the “Buddy Christ” image) than in the case of Last Temptation, which I found pretty excruciating from start to finish.
My review of Dogma, also written ten years ago, is about half positive and half negative. I think the basic points still work, although today I prefer the energy and creativity of the companion essay “Dogma in Dogma.”
Taking as its point of departure Roger Ebert’s remark that Kevin Smith’s Dogma “takes Catholic theology absolutely literally,” “Dogma in Dogma” spends most of its time noodling the movie’s theological conceits with straight-faced satire before pulling out the serious punches. That’s basically what Smith does with Catholicism, and I’d like to think that Smith himself would appreciate the turnabout.
Roger Ebert, a long-time opponent of 3D and a skeptic of most 3D movies, has an essay in Newsweek explaining why. His opening salvo is typical both of his views on the subject and of his lucid, vigorous writing style:
3-D is a waste of a perfectly good dimension. Hollywood’s current crazy stampede toward it is suicidal. It adds nothing essential to the moviegoing experience. For some, it is an annoying distraction. For others, it creates nausea and headaches. It is driven largely to sell expensive projection equipment and add a $5 to $7.50 surcharge on already expensive movie tickets. Its image is noticeably darker than standard 2-D. It is unsuitable for grown-up films of any seriousness. It limits the freedom of directors to make films as they choose. For moviegoers in the PG-13 and R ranges, it only rarely provides an experience worth paying a premium for.
Judging from the box-office success of Avatar, Alice in Wonderland, Clash of the Titans and now How to Train Your Dragon (which bounced back on amazing word of mouth from initially tepid performance and regained the #1 spot last weekend), Ebert might be preaching to a pretty deserted choir loft. Still, he clearly has a point—several in fact, some more telling than others.
3D is dim, true (I noticed this especially on Clash of the Titans). In fact, each eye gets only half the usual amount of light. Still, that’s a tech problem that can be corrected.
More enduring are Ebert’s objections that 3D is unsuitable for grown-up films—Crazy Heart in 3D, anyone?—and that it limits the freedom of directors to make movies as they choose. How does it do this? Partly because, in one very important way, traditional 2D movies are more like real-world 3D vision than 3D movies.
When you look at the real world with two eyes, your eyes have to choose where to focus: on objects close at hand, far away or somewhere in between. Regular 2D movies can mimic this effect, cueing the viewer where to pay attention, and sometimes redirecting the viewer from one part of the image to another by shifting (or “racking”) the focus. 2D movies can also use “deep focus” to bring the entire field of vision into focus at once.
A 3D movie uses two different points of view to create a fairly convincing illusion of 3D—but there are catches. In reality the entire image is the same distance from your eyes: the distance of the screen. Superficially it seems to your brain as if certain objects are closer and others farther away; in principle, this ought to mean that you could refocus your eyes on closer objects or farther objects—but you can’t. Try to focus on a blurry far-away object, and it remains just as blurry as before.
This wrecks the illusion of 3D, so 3D directors are basically obliged to rely on deep focus, to minimize the problem of seemingly 3D objects you can’t focus on. This, though, isn’t what real depth is like either; in the real world, everything isn’t in focus all at once.
What’s more, by relying on deep focus, the director loses the use of shallow focus and racking focus to guide the viewer’s attention. This is a bigger deal than casual movie watchers may realize, precisely because of the effectiveness of these tools at guiding the viewer experience, often without the viewer even noticing. You might think that Jurassic Park would be even cooler in 3D, but consider, for example, the shot in which Tim becomes aware of the velociraptor behind him: the focus rack from Tim’s face to the alarming silhouette behind the screen, and back to Tim’s terrified face. That’s the sort of thing that doesn’t work well in 3D.
And that brings me to one of the least appealing aspects of the 3D craze: the push to retrofit older films for 3D. Converting 2D images to 3D is and will always be a flawed process, since you have to invent information that isn’t there about what objects look like from different points of view. Does anyone really need to see Titanic in dodgy 3D? Raiders? Star Wars? The Wizard of Oz?
Those words, uttered by Tom Hanks as Jim Lovell in Ron Howard’s Oscar-winning Apollo 13, plastered across posters for the film, have become a ubiquitous part of the English lexicon—even though they’re not exactly what the real Jim Lovell actually said. According to Wikipedia, Lovell, repeating his fellow Apollo 13 astronaut Jack Swigert, actually said, “Houston, we’ve had a problem.” All rightee then.
Speaking of which, “All rightee then” is another one of those phrases you hear everywhere, often from people who have no idea where it comes from, or even that it comes from anywhere at all. When Morgan Freeman as God said it to Jim Carrey in Bruce Almighty, it took me a beat to process that Freeman was repeating the phrase to the actor who had originated it—in Ace Ventura: Pet Detective.
Movie quotations suffuse our language. Sometimes we use them knowingly, sometimes not. A recent article in the Guardian, “The Universal Language of Film Quoting” (warning: offensive language), took stock of this phenomenon. “Pop quiz, hotshot,” the article begins: When you hear the phrase “Pop quiz, hotshot,” what do you think? The source is Dennis Hopper in Speed, but you don’t actually need to know that to pick up on the vibe.
From the article:
[A]fter a lifetime of saturation-exposure to pop culture, soaking through our brains like solvents through sodden cotton wool, we have at our mental command a quote to fit every situation. And we draw on it constantly and frequently, sometimes without even thinking. Quotes accentuate our dialogue: they make it funnier, richer, deeper and more engaging. Of course, they also make it rather childish and trivial, but we won’t let that bother us …
There is absolutely nothing to beat the exact right line from a movie or TV show – whatever suits that precise moment best. Something goes well and you hiss “Exxxcelleeent” like Mr Burns [from “The Simpsons”], and everyone laughs along. Recently my dad stood as godfather for my brother’s baby: cue lines about kissing the hand of the “padrino”, may your first-born child be a masculine one, you’ve never invited me over for coffee. And so on and so on.
Such quotations can be universal, or they can be idiosyncratic to a particular family or circle of friends. Like the Guardian writer, I do say “Exxxcelleeent” in that Mr. Burns voice. But I wonder whether the Guardian writer or his circle of friends would recognize some of the sources of movie quotations in our household.
A Man for All Seasons, for instance. “I wish rain water was beer!” my wife Suzanne will say mockingly in response to some utopian political proposal. And if I tell my children, “Well, he cahn’t!” in the tone of Paul Scofield’s Thomas More telling Meg that Will Roper can’t marry her, they know it’s final.
Other sources are more familiar, even if the usage is idiosyncratic. Suzanne is fond of “Why does the floor move?” from Raiders of the Lost Ark. She may use it if she sees bugs in the house, or perhaps if a child is slinking along under a blanket.
Even baby Catie, a year and a half, drops movie quotations. She’s discovered Havarti cheese (it comes in the Costco party pack), and when she wants more she says, “Cheese, Gromit!” (Actually, it comes out more like “Tee, Dromit!”)
More obscurely, when she’s fussing for something, she sometimes interrupts herself to shout, “Haaam!” That’s from Hayao Miyazaki’s Ponyo, but Catie doesn’t know that. She’s just quoting her siblings, whom she’s heard say “Ham” in response to her fussing.
Sometimes during our family rosary, I may expand upon the mysteries with a brief meditation. One line I like for the Nativity is: “Behold, I have become human. If you should not want to join me in becoming God, you would do me wrong.” I think it’s a quotation from Meister Eckhart—but I know it as an intertitle from one of my favorite films, Into Great Silence.
Miracle is one of the better sports movies of recent years, dramatizing one of the most memorable American Olympic victories in the last 30 years. My review is this week’s Spotlight piece. (This post is a bit belated, as I’ve been snowed under by deadlines, but the homepage Spotlight was updated on Monday on schedule.)
Incidentally, as for what I’ve been working on, keep watching from now to Mother’s Day — and hold on for Father’s Day in June, too. In the meantime, read the review.
In 2009, two films were released with the title No Greater Love. One, with shades of Fireproof, is an Evangelical-produced drama about marriage woes and recovery. Forget that one. The one I’m interested in suggests shades of Into Great Silence, Philip Gröning’s transcendent cinematic portrait of Carthusian spirituality.
British filmmaker Michael Whyte’s indie documentary No Greater Love takes us into the silence of Most Holy Trinity, a monastery of Carmelite nuns unobtrusively situated in the fashionable Notting Hill area of West London. (My interview with Whyte is in today’s Register Web Exclusives.)
Much like Gröning, who waited 16 years for permission to film the monks at the Grand Chartreuse monastery, White corresponded with the nuns for 10 years before they opened their doors to him. Unlike Gröning, he didn’t have to go to the French Alps to film his subjects—the monastery is across the square from where he lives. Another notable difference: Where Gröning wasn’t allowed to interview the Carthusians, Whyte did interview the Carmelites. Here’s an excerpt from an intriguing article on the film in Sight & Sound, “The Big Wait”:
It’s these interviews which give No Greater Love such a distinctive feel, helping differentiate it from Philip Gröning’s more abstract study of Carthusian monks, Into Great Silence. The nuns here talk eloquently about the difficulties of maintaining an existence of religious contemplation and affirm their belief in the value of silence and prayer.
I haven’t had a chance to see the film yet, but I’m intrigued by the reviews I’ve read so far. Here’s the Independent:
[White] captures something of its severe self-discipline … but also its strange merriment, as the nuns go about their work (gardening, laundering, cooking) and talk on camera about their vocation. Their honesty is sometimes poignant, and humbling - one sister talks of a period of doubt that lasted 18 years; another describes her own torments of the soul as ‘darkness, boredom, dryness, deadness’. It absolutely discredits the idea of a nunnery as an escape from reality, for these women are obliged to face their own self all day, every day: what could be more ‘real’ than that?
Here’s another from Empire:
The sisters’ insights into a life of seclusion, contemplation and intercession are courageous and compelling, while the revelations about self-discovery, doubt and divine consolation are laudably frank and deeply moving.
When is No Greater Love coming to the States? You’ll know as soon as I do. In the meantime, here’s my interview with Whyte.
From the beginning the rodents were always there, tiny sidekicks running around in the periphery of Disney animated features, starting with Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Snow White’s woodland attendants included chipmunks, squirrels and rabbits as well as raccoons, bluebirds and other critters — everything but mice, it seems, though there is at least one mouse in the picture, an irritable little fellow in a mouse-hole in the Dwarfs’ house who objects to the sweeping squirrels using his hole as a dust-bin.
Bambi’s many woodland-creature cameos include a meadow mouse who takes shelter under a mushroom during a rainstorm. I don’t remember whether there are any mice in Pinocchio (where the key sidekick role goes to a cricket) or Fantasia — other than Mickey himself, of course, the Big Cheese of the Mouse House.
At any rate, Cinderella marks a notable turning point, with mice not only taking over the sidekick role as the heroine’s attendants, but threatening at times to take over the picture, too. They have names now, Jaq and Gus-Gus, and they become integral to the story and even to the climax to a concerning degree. It is here that the Disneyfication process begins to show signs of wear.
After Cinderella, they crop up here and there in other pictures, but their next big break is The Rescuers, where the mice actually become the stars of the picture. There is still a nominal human heroine, Penny, whom the mice are helping as their predecessors did in earlier pictures, but the movie is not about Penny, it’s about Bernard and Miss Bianca. The sidekicks have taken over.
Finally, the mice’s ultimate triumph: The Great Mouse Detective, in which the mouse heroes aid a damsel in distress who is herself a mouse, leaving humans out of the picture entirely. (There were no humans in Robin Hood either, but that movie was populated by lots of species, with mice in only a tiny role.)
At last the mice have taken over completely, and the only hint of human personality is the occasionally-glimpsed silhouette of Sherlock Holmes, playing his violin and murmuring in the background in the sampled voice of the late Basil Rathbone. If Mickey was behind the scenes from the start, pulling strings on behalf of his species, this is the picture he wanted to make all along.
It didn’t last, of course. The mice were back to helping humans in The Rescuers Down Under — and then came the Disney renaissance, starting with The Little Mermaid and then Beauty and the Beast, with human beings (half-humans in the case of Ariel’s folk) firmly in the spotlight again. The physical smallness of the mouse heroes of The Great Mouse Detective as well as the Rescuers flicks mirrors the modest ambitions and achievements of this stage in the studio’s history; once Disney found their groove again, the mice were back in the shadows.
On a side note, it was also during this time of post-Walt doldrums that Disney animator Don Bluth, frustrated with the studio’s creative stagnation, broke away to form a rival animation studio. What did he make? Among his most notable pictures are The Secret of Nimh and An American Tail — both starring mice (and both with murine-created gadgetry, just like The Great Mouse Detective). Ironically, although Bluth’s pictures never quite fulfilled the animator’s promise, some credit his efforts to compete with Disney with snapping Disney out of their funk and sparking the Disney renaissance.
At any rate, as Disney features of the post-Walt years go, The Great Mouse Detective isn’t half bad. Based on the series of children’s books by Eve Titus, the story centers on a Holmes-and-Watson-esque pair of mice, Basil and Dawson, who actually live at 22B Baker Street, in the same flat as the real Holmes and Watson.
Dawson’s similarity to Watson is ostensibly coincidental, but Basil consciously emulates his human counterpart, at least in the books (the cartoon doesn’t make this explicit). That Basil’s arch-nemesis, Professor Padraic Ratigan, in many ways resembles Holmes’s Scottish antagonist Professor Moriarty, must be regarded as another coincidence. (That Basil shares the name of the most famous big-screen Sherlock Holmes is an in-joke.)
The story plays to a number of familiar Disney motifs including the ever-popular parental separation anxiety, a flamboyant villain (nicely voiced by Vincent Price) with a scary sidekick, hairsbreadth escapes and a high-flying action-packed finale. There’s a slightly risqué scene set in a tough waterfront pub, but kids are more likely to be struck by the kidnapping of young Olivia’s father Hiram, a brilliant craftsman whom Ratigan wants to build a clockwork Queen to replace the real Queen (the Queen of the Mice; you didn’t think the story would bring human royalty into the story, did you?).
Oddly, in the books Professor Ratigan is a mouse who pretends to be a rat, while in the movie he’s a rat who pretends to be a mouse. Apparently he knows that in Disney cartoons, mice rule.
Last week the US bishops conference released a survey inquiring about parental concerns about inappropriate media content and its effect on children. Called Parents’ Hopes & Concerns About the Impact of Media on their Children, the survey suggests that most parents are concerned about their children being exposed to inappropriate content, and that many are interested in parental control technology such as the V-chip.
According to the survey:
- More than 80 percent of respondents say they want control of media content involving violence, sex, illegal drug use, alcohol abuse and profane language.
- Parents are more concerned about inappropriate content on television and the Internet than other media types such as video games, music and cellphones.
- Sexual content rated highest in parental concern, with violence a not-so-close second.
- Depictions of drug and alcohol abuse, not currently considered by many ratings and parental control systems, are of concern to virtually all parents, with high percentages rating both as very important.
- Nearly all respondents (94 percent) say their family has rules about media consumption for children. In spite of this, 27 percent admit that their children are exposed to inappropriate content.
- Three-quarters of respondents believe that media product makers should do more to help protect children from inappropriate content, and 58 percent say the government should do more.
- Over two-thirds of parents (69 percent) would like to see a standard rating system for all media types rather than separate systems for each type of media.
Some of the results are odd. Parents consistently responded less emphatically when asked how concerned they were about various types of objectionable content than when asked how important it was for them to be able to control those same types of content.
For example, 84 percent of parents said they were concerned or very concerned about sexual content, but 93 percent said it was important or very important that they be able to control it. Likewise, 61 percent said that they were concerned about inappropriate content in television commercials, but 75 percent said they would use parental controls more if they could block such content. I don’t know why some parents want to control content they aren’t concerned about, but there you go.
I suspect that parental control technology is most useful on the Internet, and may also be useful in controlling access to TV shows. When it comes to objectionable advertising, I have my doubts how useful it will ever be. Certainly advertising is often deplorable—not even always because of objectionable content, sometimes just because the ads are so unpleasant. We watch little if any commercial television, but even on the radio, or perhaps especially on the radio, there are ads that cause my wife Suzanne to fly across the room to switch off the box. Sometime she forgets to turn it back on later.
When that happens, obviously, it hurts the programming as well as the advertiser (and any other advertisers coming along later). You’d think triggering that switch-off reflex would hurt an ad, and that advertisers would figure that out and make ads that people don’t mind being exposed to, but I guess advertisers aren’t necessarily as smart as you’d think they would be. (Even when she doesn’t turn them off, Suz often finds commercials insulting and a turn-off for the product rather than a positive association for it.)
Advertisement-blocking technology would be great, but it’s hard to imagine the industry going for this. The ability to deliver eyes for advertisements is the media’s lifeblood, it’s what pays for the programming. Advertisers won’t pay to air commercials only to have them blocked by three-quarters of the audience. In theory, this might make them want to adjust their commercial content so that viewers wouldn’t block them—but that assumes commercial-blocking technology ever got off the ground. (As it is, they apparently don’t have enough incentive to adjust their content so Suzanne doesn’t turn off the box.)
In many ways, we live in a toxic culture. There’s no chip to block outdoor advertising for last weekend’s #1 movie plastering the word “Kick-Ass” across billboards and buses, or to offer parents control of sexually explicit headlines in the magazine racks at the supermarket checkout aisle. No one can stop their children from seeing offensive bumper stickers or T-shirts. And of course there’s always the neighbor’s television or computer, the cellphone of the kid next door.
Ultimately, the problem isn’t parental controls, it’s that these things are socially acceptable at all. I’m not talking about censorship. I’m talking about cultural standards.
For some reason, while the survey asks whether media product makers and the government are doing enough, it doesn’t ask about media content producers, even though it is they who bear the principal moral responsibility for the proper use of the media, according to the Vatican II decree Inter Mirifica (On the Media of Social Communications).
Then there’s the parents themselves to consider. When you see parents bringing young children to R-rated movies, you realize that no chip can protect children from their own parents’ callousness and apathy.
That’s not to say the system couldn’t be better. (A ratings system capable of effectively blocking children under 17 from many of today’s R-rated movies, even if accompanied by a parent, would help.)
As it is, like it or not, conscientious parents are largely on their own.
Parental guidance: It’s a way of life, not just the rating after G.
This week’s Spotlight piece is another older review you may not have read, for a film you may not have seen: Touching the Void.
Thomas Balmes’s Babies opens on May 7, just in time for Mother’s Day.
After the population-collapse anxieties of Children of Men, all the unwanted-pregnancy movies of 2007 and a slew of apocalyptic disaster films, is Hollywood moving toward a posterity state of mind?
Babies are everywhere this year, it seems. Babies is the name of a Focus Features documentary, opening on Mother’s Day weekend, about the first year in the lives of four babies from different corners of the world. Also opening that weekend, Rodrigo García’s Mother and Child tells three overlapping stories of women and adoption, including a mother seeking to adopt a baby born during the course of the film.
Then there’s a problematic pair of romantic comedies, The Back-up Plan and The Switch, that turn on that most unromantic method of conception, artificial insemination—in both cases gone wrong, appropriately enough. (Ironically, both films have undergone name switches: The Switch originally bore the more graphic title The Baster, and The Back-up Plan was originally planned as Plan B, unfortunately echoing a brand of “emergency contraception,” i.e., morning-after abortifacient.)
More baby connections in upcoming films are noted by Paul Bond in Hollywood Reporter. Currently set for December are a pair of new-parent films: Due Date stars Iron Man hero Robert Downey Jr. as an expectant dad trying to hitchhike home in time for the big day, and the romantic comedy Life as We Know It casts Katherine Heigl and Josh Duhamel as otherwise unconnected godparents who unexpectedly become foster parents when tragedy befalls the actual parents of their goddaughter. (Yes, you can have a romantic comedy that starts with a tragic accident; see Return to Me.) Oh, and there’s a baby on the way in the coming sequel to Meet the Parents and Meet the Fockers.
Even in 2007, there was a latent pro-life vibe running through the string of unwanted-pregnancy movies: Juno, Bella, Waitress and Knocked Up (starring Life as We Know It’s Heigl), as well as 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days. This year, it seems, wanted babies may be back—even if the babies in The Back-up Plan and The Switch are wanted by single mothers without even a baby-daddy, and the baby in Life as We Know It was wanted by the real parents rather than the foster/godparents. The Hollywood Reporter piece suggests that perhaps current economic and global crises have something to do with it: “During hard times, family becomes even more important,” Life as We Know It executive producer Denise Di Novi is quoted as saying. “It’s been proven. Parents spend more time with their children—it’s that nesting instinct.”
While I’ve seen none of these films yet, the one that most intrigues me is Thomas Balmes’s Babies. “Everybody Loves…” is the tagline for a film that takes us to Mongolia, Namibia, San Francisco and Tokyo for a year in the lives of four babies. In fact, Babies just might be ahead of Iron Man 2 as my most anticipated release of May (which is saying something for me). While we’re waiting, check out the trailer.
Note for Win/IE users:
Every so often in the past I’ve gotten a note that made me wince, asking whether I’ve reviewed a particular movie that I have indeed reviewed and adding, “I searched for it but couldn’t find it.”
Right away I know three things about those users: (a) They’re using Internet Explorer on a PC, (b) they hit Enter instead of clicking Search, and (c) they tried a quick search in the header and then gave up without trying the Power Search page.
I don’t know what exactly the problem was with the quick search specifically, or why IE was so allergic to whatever it was compared to other browsers. I do know that for some time the problem has been on the to-do list for my volunteer developer, Simeon — and now he’s finally gotten around to fixing it. Thank you Simeon!
So, the search function should now work correctly for all users in all circumstances. IE users should still feel free to upgrade to a better browser anyway … but in the meantime their searches will all be supported. Search away!
Ian C. Bloom of Illumined Illusions has the most amazing analysis of The Sound of Music I’ve ever read. His commentary on Singin’ in the Rain is the only critique I’ve seen to eke such interest out of the the modernist production number in the third act. And I like how he breaks up his thoughts on Beverly Hills Cop into bullet points (something I’ve done a few times myself).
In a word, Illumined Illusions is worth checking out. I must reluctantly note one drawback: The site design is a literal eyesore. I don’t like to say this, because I take critical comments about my own site design more personally than I do critical comments about my reviews. But white-on-black text is a particular peeve of mine, since the reverse contrast burns into the reader’s retinas and makes it hard to focus on normal pages afterward. The varied background gradations don’t help, either.
But deal with it. Bloom’s thoughts are worth it. I don’t necessarily agree with everything he (or any other critic) writes, of course, but then I don’t always agree with everything I wrote five years ago either. That’s not the point.
I like his style, too. Here is a sentence I wish I had written, regarding Fantasia: “Instead of the music ‘Mickey-Mousing’ the action, here the action ‘Micky-Mouses’ the music, sometimes with Mickey, himself, providing the action.” The last paragraph of his long essay on Spartacus is also worth quoting, but I won’t quote it here. Read it for yourself.
Word that Eagle Eye co-writer Travis Adam Wright has been tapped to script a planned adaptation of James A. Owen’s fantasy series The Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica has kicked off a flurry of coverage on Owen’s series, which casts the Inklings—J. R. R. Tokien, C. S. Lewis and Charles Williams, as well as Owen Barfield and Hugo Dyson—as heroes of epic fantasy adventures weaving together Arthurian legend, Greek mythology and the writings of other British writers, not to mention the writers themselves … among other things. (Hat tip to the vigilant Peter Chattaway, who first reported on this project four years ago.)
In Owen’s series, H. G. Wells, J. M. Barrie, Charles Dickens, Edgar Allan Poe, Rudyard Kipling and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle appear side by side with King Arthur and Mordred, Peter Pan, Daedalus, Captain Nemo and Don Quixote in a story involving the Holy Grail and the Spear of Longinus, Pandora’s Box, fairy dust, Plato’s cave and a book called the Imaginarium Geographica, an atlas of all mythological locations. Owen has completed four volumes so far of a projected seven. Wright has been contracted to script the first two installments, Here, There Be Dragons and The Search for the Red Dragon.
What would the Inklings themselves have thought of such a project? One thing is certain: Tolkien would have hated it. This kind of imaginative pastiche throwing together all sorts of disparate mythologies would have given him hives. Tolkien objected to precisely this sort of mythological sloppiness in C. S. Lewis’s Narnia stories, with their juxtaposition of Greco-Roman and Nordic mythology, Beatrix Potter and Kenneth Grahame, Genesis and Revelation and the Gospels, Hans Christian Anderson, Arthurian legend, and even Father Time and Father Christmas all jostling hugger-mugger, without apology.
Tolkien felt strongly, on aesthetic grounds, that a lamp-post in fairy-land is an affront, and that nymphs and dryads do not belong in the same world, let alone the same story, as Father Christmas or sewing beavers. To this objection Lewis had an answer: He argued that all these diverse creatures do happily coexist—in our minds. Tolkien’s retort: “Not in mine, or at least not at the same time!”
Might Lewis have been more sympathetic to Owen’s project? It’s hard to guess, especially without having read The Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica myself. Lewis could appreciate pulp adventure as well as classical mythology, and in principle a project like Owen’s might hold some appeal for Lewis the Rider Haggard fan, Lewis the classicist, or both. (For sheer aesthetic affinity, the author-character with the most sympathy for the hodgepodge character of Owen’s work might have been J. M. Barrie, whose Neverland of tiny fairies (just the sort Tolkien detested), Caribbean pirates, American Indians, mermaids, crocodiles, flying “lost” boys, flying pirate ships and detachable shadows was expressly described as “a map of a person’s mind.”)
Lewis’s own mythological synthesis, in addition to reflecting his love of the mythologies in question, was also an act of imaginative piety, of “taking every thought captive to obey Christ.” The scope of Lewis’s imaginative vision was clearest in The Last Battle, which revealed all worlds real and imagined as mountain spurs or roots jutting out from the mountains of Aslan’s country. Lewis believed that whatever was true or good in mythology or science fiction found its fulfillment in the revelation of Jesus Christ. Narnia embodied Lewis’s rejection of Emerson’s maxim that “When half-gods go, the gods arrive”—a rejection Lewis elsewhere expressed with a Chestertonian reversal: “When God arrives (and only then) the half-gods can remain” (The Four Loves).
If Owen’s pan-Western synthesis of Greek and Arthurian legend lacks any significant or overriding Christian dimension, that’s one thing. If it entails a sort of an un-Christianing or paganizing of Tolkien and Lewis, that’s something else. Plot points from the synopses at Wikipedia raise possible red flags: For instance, the materialist H. G. Wells is presented as a kind of mentor figure to Tolkien and Lewis, and Mordred is initially presented as a villain but is later revealed to be a victim of fate rather than a villain.
Perhaps most troublingly, a dragon named Samaranth, described as the first dragon and possibly the oldest living creature, is said to advise and aid the heroes. I’ve defended the legitimacy of friendly dragons in certain contexts—but not all dragons are created equal, and I suspect that both Tolkien and Lewis would consider Owen’s Samaranth, as described, to tread too close for comfort to the traditional Christian iconography of Lucifer—particularly in a story predicated on the conceit of giving the imaginary back story supposedly inspiring Tolkien and Lewis’s faith-inflected fantasies.
P.S. Peter’s earlier post also mentions a seven-year-old graphic novel called Heaven’s War that pits the Inklings against the British occultist Aleister Crowley. I’ve not read that one either, but from plot summaries it sounds as if the story may be more shaped by the Inklings’ Christian faith than it seems Owen’s stories are.
“Prince Drool?” Did this baby cuten up and become a fan of pull-string cowboys and space rangers with karate-chop action?
More insightful analysis on patterns at Pixar from Peter T. Chattaway:
That’s a sharp observation … but what I really love about this post is Peter’s speculation about a deeper connection between Tin Toy and the Toy Story series:
If Toy Story 3 really does play up the children-as-happy-monsters angle, then it seems Pixar will have come full circle in its treatment of the toy world. And no, I do not mean that Pixar will have returned to the themes of the original Toy Story. Instead, I mean that Pixar will have gone, in spirit, all the way back to the short film Tin Toy (1988), which was heralded at the time as the first computer-animated film to win the Oscar for Best Animated Short.
So, whenever my kids and I watch the Toy Story movies, I like to start with Tin Toy -- partly because I have very fond memories of seeing it on the big screen at animation festivals back in the late ’80s, but also partly because I have a theory that the baby in Tin Toy is identical to the boy named Andy that we see in the Toy Story movies.
That’s so neat. And it ties in with an opening gag in Toy Story that already harkens back to Tin Toy, with Andy’s baby sister Molly in the “happy monster” role, and Mr. Potato Head as the blithely abused plaything. (“Ages three and up! It’s on my box! Ages three and up! I’m not supposed to be babysitting Princess Drool!”)
If there’s anything to Peter’s theory connecting Andy to the baby in Tin Toy, perhaps some of those toys in Andy’s bedroom have been putting up with that sort of treatment for the better part of a decade. (Maybe that’s why Potato Head is so much more blasé about it than the terrified playthings in Tin Toy. How will this play out in Toy Story 3?)
(Now I’m trying to remember whether the Luxo, Jr. ball appears in Tin Toy. If so, that would be another connection, although a weak one, since it appears in nearly every household in Pixar’s films, including Boo’s from Monsters, Inc. and Jack-Jack’s in Jack-Jack Attack.)
For no particular reason, here is an older review you may not have read, for a film you may not have seen: My Architect (2002).
I’ve linked it on the homepage spotlight also, where I’ll leave it for the rest of the week. Next week I’ll spotlight something else from Decent Film’s older or recent past.
If there’s something to tie into to make a piece timely, like last week’s spotlight on Faustina for Divine Mercy Sunday, I’ll note that as appropriate. Otherwise, it’ll just be a random selection of something I thought worth highlighting.
I’m not a big box-office watcher, but I pay enough attention to be frustrated by audiences rewarding films that I think are undeserving and ignoring films that I think merit attention. Not always, of course. It’s gratifying to watch movies like Green Zone and The Wolfman flop. But then along come films like Alice in Wonderland and Clash of the Titans, both of which critics generally saw in a dim light, and audiences flock enthusiastically to them.
Especially frustrating is watching a particular target audience or demographic embrace a less worthy film over a more worthy one. For example, early box-office reports for the charming, critically acclaimed cartoon How to Train Your Dragon were not encouraging, yet the same family audiences neglecting How to Train were making a hit of Alice in Wonderland, a chilly exercise in Burtonesque art direction and aggrieved feminism.
Well, there’s no accounting for Alice’s success — but it’s heartening to see How to Train Your Dragon now rebounding to unexpected heights on fantastic word of mouth. In the analysis of Box Office Guru’s Gitesh Pandya:
The big story this weekend came in third place where the 3D animated film How To Train Your Dragon witnessed a remarkably low 13% decline in its third round for an estimated $25.4M gross boosting the 17-day total to a terrific $133.9M. Short-sighted film industry watchers and impatient Wall Street investors prematurely dismissed Dragon and DreamWorks Animation after its less-than-stellar opening weekend two weeks ago. The company’s stock dropped 8% on the first trading day after the debut with analysts lowering their estimates for the final domestic take to just $152M. Dragon will now crush that mark next weekend and looks on course to break the $200M barrier too becoming the second biggest 3D toon of all-time behind just the $293M of Up.
Beating Pixar’s Oscar winner may not be possible, but outgrossing other competitors like Monsters vs. Aliens, Ice Age 3, and Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs makes Dragon a powerful performer. The PG-rated film was indeed slow out of the gate, but amazing word-of-mouth coupled with school holidays for spring have made Dragon the must-see film for kids and parents. Competition for families and 3D screens remains extremely light for the next five weeks so the Viking pic’s strong run should continue. Reaching $250M cannot be ruled out at this point given the road ahead since Dragon will be able to earn at least five times its opening figure, if not more.
I wasn’t a fan of either Ice Age 3 or Monsters vs. Aliens (another family flick marred by aggrieved feminism), so it’s nice to see the initially underrated How to Train soar past them. Then again, I also thought that Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs was a better film than either of them (looking back at my review of Cloudy, I see that I drew explicit contrasts to both Ice Age 3 and Monsters vs. Aliens).
At least films like Cloudy and How to Train are finding the audiences they deserve, even if less worthy films often do better than they deserve.
For the benefit of RSS readers who may not see the homepage Spotlight notice, I’ll be on the first hour of Catholic Answers Live this Friday, 4/9, from 3pm–4pm PDT (i.e., San Diego time, where Catholic Answers is), or 6pm–7pm EDT (i.e., New Jersey time, where I am).
It’s hard to imagine any filmmaker making the final, and probably the most perverse, of Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight books into a good movie—let alone two movies, which is the plan. But Summit Entertainment is giving it their best shot: After discussions with a list of respected directors including Sofia Coppola, Steven Daldry and Gus Van Sant, Bill Condon (Gods and Monsters, Kinsey) has reportedly emerged as the front-runner, according to Deadline.com.
Summit’s Twilight series is the latest fantasy franchise to postpone the inevitable by doubling down on the final installment. Warner Bros’ Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows opens in November, but we won’t be saying goodbye to Harry until July 2011 when Part II opens. The coming Lord of the Rings prequel, The Hobbit, is also being developed as two films.
All of this may make financial sense, but in moviemaking terms it seems to me to be asking for trouble. Wasn’t the first half of J. K. Rowling’s Deathly Hallows mostly a holding pattern, with Harry on some endless camping trip or something? Do we really need a whole movie about that? And of course The Hobbit is a far slighter work, in more ways than one, than the three parts of The Lord of the Rings. I know, they’re going to pad it out with material from Tolkien’s other writings, but still.
Perhaps Peter Jackson should have considered splitting The Return of the King in two. It might have mollified the people who complained that the ending kept going on and on, and perhaps he could have got in the Scouring of the Shire, too. Certainly one good film of The Last Battle seems too much to hope for; I don’t need to see two. (I’m just saying; this isn’t something the Narnia producers are talking about, as far as I know.)
Of all these split ends, though, forking Breaking Dawn into two films seems the dodgiest proposition. Not that it isn’t understandable that Summit, an upstart studio whose Twilight success was their first claim to fame, should want to milk (or suck) the franchise for all it’s worth. (More recently, Summit won critical and awards acclaim, if not huge box-office rewards, with The Hurt Locker.)
But have they read the book? Um, ick.
Bella’s self-destructive lion-and-lamb romance with Vampire Dreamboat culminates in marriage (yay Mormon chastity), and all in all her wedding night, which leaves her covered with bruises, could have gone a lot worse.
Then, though, comes pregnancy. Unholy Alien reproductive anxiety nightmare pregnancy, Batman.
Convinced that Bella is incubating a monster, Vampire Dreamboat wants to abort. The werewolf contingent, less delicately, want to kill the child without the bother of saving the mother’s life.
Some say that pro-lifers should rejoice that Bella decides to keep the baby. I say pro-lifers should rejoice when pregnancy is treated as beautiful and holy. The placental miracle of a mother’s blood nourishing her baby’s blood without commingling is one thing; a li’l bloodsucker nursing on its mother’s blood supply from the womb is something else.
Childbirth (I know very, very well) can be grueling and life-threatening; it is not gruesome and monstrous. That Bella massively exsanguinates while giving birth is not, so to speak, beyond the pale; that her vampire-human half-breed offspring shatters her bones and shreds her viscera, trying to chew its way out while mama vomits fountains of blood … sorry, “pro-life” is not the term that comes to mind. That Vampire Dreamboat must turn Bella herself into Vampire Consort Chick to save her life—not my idea of “breaking dawn.”
Looking on the bright side, the book is split into three parts. Maybe we’re getting off easy with only two movies.