Category Archives: Fantasy

Japed crusader: Griff the Invisible **

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on August 27, 2011)

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While the “outsider” is a well-established archetype in film, a new sub-genre has emerged in recent years. It’s perhaps best described as “Revenge of the Nerds: The Millennial Generation Re-boot”; a little bit mumble core, with a touch of character study and magical realism (steeped in hipster irony). The protagonist is usually a quirky, socially awkward daydreamer who pines for love and understanding, but despite best efforts to connect, comes off as, well, a dork.

Frequently, our hero or heroine is ridiculed and/or bullied by others, prompting deeper retreat into a private universe, or the creation of an alter ego who then (figuratively or literally) “defeats” their tormentors. Think: Office Killer, Welcome to the Dollhouse, Amelie, Secretary, Muriel’s Wedding, Ghost World, Lars and the Real Girl, Napoleon Dynamite, Eagle vs. Shark and Scott Pilgrim vs. the World. Now you can add Australian import Griff the Invisible to that list.

20-something Griff (Ryan Kwanten) is an introverted Sydney office drone one or two symptoms shy of an Asperger’s diagnosis. The more he tries to make himself “invisible”, the more he incites the office bully (Toby Schmitz) to cruelly prank him in front of his co-workers. Poor Griff hasn’t figured out that most basic tenet of social anthropology-the more you assimilate, the less attention you draw to yourself . His only solace comes in the form of an alter ego, “Griff the Protector”. A legend in his own mind, Griff the Protector is a nocturnal crime-fighter, who takes names and kicks ass.

The Sydney police have been receiving numerous complaints from Griff’s neighbors about some weirdo running around at night wearing a rubber superhero suit, peering into windows and creeping people out. “Oh no, you’re not doing it again, are you?” asks Griff’s concerned older brother Tim (Patrick Brammall), implying that Griff has had a history of difficulty delineating reality from fantasy.

You can tell that Tim (the “responsible” sibling) cares about his brother, but is at the end of his rope as to how he’s going to drag Griff out of his  arrested development and into adult life (kicking and screaming) . Besides, he has his own life to live, with a career, a bright future and a new girlfriend named Melody (Maeve Dermody).

However, as we get to know Melody, we wonder if she’s hooked up with the “right” brother. For example, whenever Tim starts prattling on about plans for the future, Melody tends to drift off, fixing her gaze on an indeterminate point somewhere on the horizon. And when it’s time to say “good night”, her quick pull away when Tim tries to give her a peck doesn’t bode well for the couple’s future, either.

The only time Melody gets jazzed is when she’s alone, reading up on particle physics. She has become obsessed with the possibilities of passing a human body through solid matter. She has been practicing the trick on her bedroom wall; needless to say, she’s been sustaining head injuries-which could explain the “drifting off” thing.  So, are these two kooks (Griff and Melody) going to end up together?

This is the first feature film for writer-director Leon Ford, and while it’s a bit uneven, Kwanten and Dermody have great screen chemistry and lend charm to the film. However, the characters, as written, teeter precariously between “endearingly quirky” and “mentally ill” (you’re torn between cheering them on and wishing someone would whisk them both off for a psych evaluation).

That aside, Ford’s film is a diverting enough 90 minutes, as long as you don’t set expectations too high. And the film’s message, which is something along the lines of: Who cares what people believe about you, as long as you have someone in your life who truly believes in you…is certainly an encouraging one, nu?

The weight of water: Undertow ***1/2

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on January 22, 2011)

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Just when you thought you’d had your fill of romantic ghost stories about closeted Peruvian fishermen, along comes writer-director Javier Fuentes-Leon with his debut film Contracorriente (Undertow). And yes, I am being facetious. A cross between Making Love and Truly Madly Deeply, it is a unique, compassionate, beautifully moving tale.

The story is set on the Peruvian coast. We meet an amiable young fisherman named Miguel (Cristian Mercado) and his lovely, very pregnant wife Mariela (Tatiana Astengo), who live in a sleepy little village-the kind of place where everyone not only knows your name, but nearly everything that you might be up to at any given moment.

So it’s a minor miracle that no one knows about Miguel’s amor secreto-an artist/photographer named Santiago (Manolo Cardona), an urban ex-pat who lives in an isolated beach shack, where he works on his paintings. Although he’s a low-key and gentle man, Santiago lives in literal and figurative isolation ; due to the fact that he is an openly gay agnostic. In a small town heavily imbued with the deeply conservative values of both traditional machismo culture and the Catholic Church, this counts for two  big strikes against him.

Because of his high standing with fellow fishermen and the village priest (and the fact that he is a father-to-be), Miguel is bound and determined to keep his languid, passionate trysts on the beach with Santiago compartmentalized. “I’m not that way,” he insists with a barely convincing air of macho indignation, when Santiago breaches the subject of total and open commitment (denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, as the saying goes). Mercado is a subtle actor; the look on his face as he stalks away from his lover after the spat conveys both the conflict in his heart and the inner turmoil he is suffering from .

As the birth of his child approaches, Miguel  gets jumpy. After Santiago “accidentally” runs into Mariela in the public market and offers to buy her a good luck candle for her baby after striking up a friendly chat, Miguel forbids him from further contact with his family. Santiago acquiesces, and the lovers cool their heels for a while. Imagine Miguel’s surprise when, after the birth of his new son, he is awakened in the middle of the night and discovers a distraught Santiago sitting on his kitchen floor. Miguel frantically attempts to shoo Santiago out without awakening his wife; it doesn’t work.

Miguel then has an even bigger surprise when Mariela asks him who he is talking to, even though Santiago is sitting between them . “Your face is white,” his wife says (as if he has seen a you-know-what). Santiago has a new secret, which drives the remainder of the film.

The director and his cinematographer (Mauricio Vidal) utilize the inherent beauty of the tropical South American coastline to good effect (it’s interesting to note that Cabo Blanco, where the most of the principal photography was done, was also where some location footage for the 1958 version of The Old Man and the Sea was shot).

The three leads are quite engaging. The film won the audience award at the 2010 Sundance Festival-not surprising considering the emotional wallop in the film’s denouement. While it is essentially a tale informed by magical realism, it earns its points delving into one of life’s biggest mysteries-the complexity of the human heart.

One of his latest, funnier films: Midnight in Paris ****

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on June 11, 2011)

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Dr. Drew-please help me. I’m a wreck. This is only the first line for my review of Midnight in Paris, and already I’m feeling defensive. Why is that? When will I be able to review a Woody Allen movie without feeling obliged…no, strike that…duty-bound to append superlatives with a qualifier like “…in years”. You know-as in, “This is Woody Allen’s best film…in years!” Why can’t I just say “This is a great film”? Is it the vacillating quality of his work over the last two decades? Or is it me? Am I stuck in the past? Have I become one of those sniveling fans Woody parodied in Stardust Memories-wringing my hands over the fact that his recent work is nothing like the “earlier, funny films” he made in the days of my golden youth? Wait…what’s that ringing in my ears? I feel nauseous. Oh, Jesus, I hope it isn’t a brain tumor. Uh, hello? Dr. Drew? Dr. Drew?

We’ve lost our connection, so back to the review. Allen continues the 6-year European travelogue that began in England (Match Point, Scoop, Cassandra’s Dream), trekked to Spain (Vicky Cristina Barcelona) then after a respite in N.Y.C. (Whatever Works) headed back to the U.K. (You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger) before settling in the City of Light for this romantic fantasy. Allen opens the film Manhattan style-with a montage of iconic Paris landmarks (strikingly captured by City of Lost Children DP Darius Khonji and co-cinematographer Johanne Debas). We are introduced to a successful but artistically unfulfilled Hollywood screenwriter named Gil (Owen Wilson).

Gil is engaged to Inez (Rachel McAdams). The two of them have tagged along with Inez’s parents (Kurt Fuller and Mimi Kennedy) who are in Paris on a business trip. Gil and Inez view Paris from differing perspectives. Inez is excited about the shopping and the tourist attractions, plus the fact that her bubbly friend Carol (Nina Arianda) is also in town with her boyfriend Paul (Michael Sheen), a pompous art professor who has been invited to speak at the Sorbonne. Gil, on the other hand, is one of those nostalgia junkies who tend to wax melancholic about “being born at the wrong time”.

To be sure, part of him does appreciate being alive in the 21st century, but if he had his druthers, he would gladly swap his luxury Malibu digs for Paris (the perfect place to polish the draft of his first novel). If he pushed the fantasy to its limits, Paris in the 1920s would be ideal; consorting in Left Bank cafes with Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Eliot and Stein. Meanwhile, Inez and her parents hope Gil’s romanticized musings are just a silly phase that he’s going through.

To Gil’s chagrin, Inez appears enraptured by Paul’s windy professorial pontificating about the landmarks they visit (at one point, he self-importantly “corrects” a French tour guide on trivia regarding a Rodin sculpture). While Inez admires his “brilliance”, Gil sees Paul for what he really is-an insufferably arrogant pedant. Pseudo-intellectuals have been one of Allen’s pet targets over the years; in a later scene where Gil finds himself in a unique position to stymie the ever-chattering Paul , I was reminded of that classic “I happen to have Marshall McLuhan right here” moment in Annie Hall.

One evening, after Gil has done a little more wining than dining, he takes a head-clearing, late-night stroll back to the hotel, leaving a less-than-pleased Inez on her own to go out partying with Carol and Paul. Gil finds himself lost in the labyrinth of Paris’s narrow backstreets.

As he stops to rest and get his bearings, the bells begin to toll midnight. At that moment, a well-preserved vintage Peugeot Landaulet pulls up, seemingly out of nowhere. A lively group of well-oiled young party people invite him to hop on in and join their revelry. With a “what the hell” shrug, Gil accepts the invitation. Now, so I don’t risk spoiling your fun, I won’t tell you much more about what ensues. Suffice it to say that this will be the first of several “transportive” midnight outings that will change Gil’s life.

Allen re-examines many of his signature themes-particularly regarding the mysteries of attraction and the flightiness of the Muse. He also offers keen insights about those who romanticize the past. Do we really believe in our  hearts that everything was better “then”? Isn’t getting lost in nostalgia just another way to shirk responsibility for dealing with the present?

Earlier I made a tongue-in-cheek analogy between Allen’s “earlier, funny films” and the “days of my golden youth”. Were Woody’s movies really “funnier” then-or are they merely  portals back to a carefree time when I still had my whole life ahead of me? Lest you begin to think that this is one of his Bergman-esque excursions-let me assure you that it’s not. It’s romantic, intelligent, perceptive, magical, and yes…very funny. There’s a fantastic supporting cast, including Marion Cotillard, Kathy Bates and Adrien Brody. In fact, I will say this without qualification: This is a great film. Never mind, Dr. Drew…I’m cured!

Blu-ray reissue: Beauty and the Beast (1946) ****

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on December 10, 2011)

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Beauty and the Beast (1946) – Criterion Collection Blu-ray

Out of the myriad movie adaptations of Mme. Leprince de Beaumont’s fairy tale, Jean Cocteau’s 1946 version remains the most soulful and poetic. This probably had something to do with the fact that it was made by a director who literally had the soul of a poet (Cocteau’s day job, in case you didn’t know). Jean Marais (Cocteau’s favorite leading man, onscreen and off) gives an immensely affecting performance as The Beast who is paralyzed by unrequited passion for the beautiful Belle (Josette Day). This version is a surreal fairy tale that was not necessarily made with the kids in mind (especially with the psycho-sexual subtexts). The timeless moral of the original tale, however, is still simple enough for a child to grasp; it’s what’s inside that counts.

The film is a triumph of production design, with an inventive visual style that continues to influence film makers (an example would be Guillermo del Toro, who wore the Cocteau influence all over his sleeve in his 2006 film, Pan’s Labyrinth). Criterion’s new Blu-ray reissue of the 2002 restoration really brings Henri Alekan’s stunning B & W photography to the fore.

The disc also gives you the option to run Philip Glass’ synchronous opera, La Belle et la Bete, as an alternate soundtrack. Extras include a fascinating interview with (the late) Alekan, who shares memories while visiting a few of the original shooting locations (the little house where Belle and her family “lived”, remains amazingly intact).

Blu-ray reissue: The Lord of the Rings: The Motion Picture Trilogy (Extended Edition) ****

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on July 2, 2011)

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The Lord of the RIngs: The Motion Picture Trilogy (Extended Edition) – New Line Home Video Blu-ray (box set)

It’s quite possible that the bloodiest battle fought over Middle Earth is nowhere to be found within director Peter Jackson’s epic, three-film adaptation of J.R.R. Tolkien’s beloved book trilogy. That particular kerfuffle rages in countless chat rooms.

For the past several years, “Where’s the Blu-ray of the extended editions?” was the rallying cry of hand-wringing fantasy geeks, waxing wroth on the discussion boards and getting their braies in a bind over the dreaded “double dip” extorted from fans by the releasing studio (or in this case, “quadruple dip”, counting the staggered wait between releases of the standard and BD versions of the original theatrical cuts).

The coveted Blu-ray box set in question was finally released this week…and already a new controversy rages. It concerns the color timing of these HD versions of the extended editions (I won’t bore you with details-just Google “Lord of the Rings green tint”).

At any rate, I picked up a copy, and to my eyes…it’s all good-the transfers are fabulous. Besides-this is a fantasy world…right? New Line Home Video has imported all extras from their original DVD version of the extended edition. Hopefully, this will be the one edition to rule them all (until the next Latest and Greatest format).

Blu-ray reissue: Excalibur ***1/2

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on July 2, 2011)

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Excalibur – Warner Bros. Blu-ray

Eclectic director John Boorman tried his hand at adventure-fantasy in this umpteenth version of the King Arthur legend, with varying results (mostly good). Although purists might see it as bit of a Cliff Notes take (and granted, there are some jarring jumps in the narrative), I think this is one case where style trumps substance.

Photographed in a gauzy, dreamlike haze (by Alex Thomson, who also shot Legend and Labyrinth), the film is buoyed by a marvelous cast, including Nigel Terry, Nicol Williamson, Gabriel Byrne, Liam Neeson, Patrick Stewart, and the great Helen Mirren (as a deliciously evil Morgana). One thing’s for sure-there’s much more sex and violence than previous versions of the Arthurian legend, and more emphasis on the darker aspects of the tale (like the incest, for example). Definitely not recommended for a double bill with The Sword in the Stone on family movie night, if you know what I’m saying.

Warner skimps on extras, but the Blu-ray transfer is excellent.

Karn Evil 9: The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus ***

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on January 23,  2010)

Step inside, step inside…

Terry Gilliam must be a very persuasive man. How he convinced Heath Ledger to work with him again after that ill-advised train wreck The Brothers Grimm, is beyond my ken. Then again, Ledger could not have predicted that he would die prior to the completion of principal shooting for The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus, which will now be cemented (for better or for worse) as the late actor’s swan song.

“For better or for worse” could be the mantra of the unflappable Gilliam fan, considering the iconoclastic writer-director’s spotty and underwhelming output since 1998’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, which represents the last detectable vestige of “classic” Gilliam. And as entertaining as that film was, it still doesn’t hold a candle to his Holy Trinity- Monty Python and the Holy Grail (co-directed with Terry Jones), Time Bandits and Brazil. So-does his new film redeem his reputation and convey respect to Heath Ledger’s legacy?

Well, kind of. If you have seen the excellent 2002 documentary Lost in La Mancha (a behind-the-scenes glimpse at Gilliam’s ill-fated project, The Man Who Killed Don Quixote) or the illuminating “making of” feature in Criterion’s edition of Brazil, you know that Gilliam is one of those directors who thrives in the face of adversity. Considering the tragic circumstances, Gilliam has done an admirable job of salvaging, from both a narrative standpoint and in preserving one last wonderful turn from Ledger.

An odd mash-up of The 7 Faces of Dr. Lao, The Stuntman, and Angel Heart, the film is a “through the looking glass” tale about an anachronistic travelling circus touring present-day England. The small troupe, led by the wizened, mysterious and frequently plastered Dr. Parnassus (Christopher Plummer, reeling through the proceedings like King Lear on a bender) ply their trade via horse-drawn wagon, setting up anywhere they might be able to scare up some coin.

The star attraction is the “Imaginarium”, entered (of course) through a looking glass. Once inside, depending on what kind of psychic baggage they bring with them, the patron becomes immersed in either a) their most treasured fantasy, or b) most dreaded nightmare (in full Sensurround). So-how, when and where did he learn this neat trick? Long story, but I won’t bore you with details (that’s the director’s job). Suffice it to say that it has something to do with immortality, and a deal with the Devil (Tom Waits).

Every Faustian bargain carries a caveat; for Dr. Parnassus, it’s a heart breaker that has  driven him to drink, and the time is now fast approaching to give the Devil his due. He also has his hands full with his daughter Valentina (Lily Cole), who is on the cusp of her 16th birthday. Valentina loves her father, but has grown weary of the troupe’s hand-to-mouth existence, and dreams of escaping the family business to enjoy a “normal” life (which makes for an amusingly ironic twist on the cliché about the kid who yearns to run away and join the circus).

Meantime, the doctor’s young apprentice Anton (Andrew Garfield) secretly pines for her. The dynamics become more interesting when the troupe picks up a new barker (Heath Ledger), an amnesiac with a possibly dubious past, who they initially discover (literally) under a bridge (hanging, actually…don’t ask).

Without giving too much away, I will say that Ledger’s central (if unfinished) performance has been made miraculously whole through Gilliam’s resourcefulness and assistance from three talented guest stars-Johnny Depp, Jude Law and Colin Farrell, all seamlessly incorporated into the narrative as several Imaginarium-enhanced “versions” of Ledger’s character. The cast is uniformly good; Waits is an inspired choice as ol’ Scratch (known here as “Mr. Nick”) and Verne Troyer is on hand as the doctor’s longtime counsel/business partner (it wouldn’t really be a Terry Gilliam film without at least one little person in the cast, would it?).

As I implied earlier, this film may not rank among Gilliam’s best, but on a sliding scale, it comes close in execution and spirit to his “classic” period (a choreographed number with dancing bobbies is an unexpected delight, invoking the spirit of the original Python ethos for one brief and shining moment). The director hasn’t lost his visual flair; he certainly knows how to fill every available bit of space in the frame with eye-popping imagery (and probably brought it in at a cost somewhere in the neighborhood of the catering bill for Avatar). Gilliam proves that sometimes, the cheap rides can be more fun.

DVD Reissue: Wings of Desire ****

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on November 28, 2009)

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Wings of Desire – The Criterion Collection DVD (2-disc)

I’ve never sat down and tried to compile a Top 10 list of my favorite movies of all time (I’ve just seen too many damn movies…I’d be staring at my computer screen for weeks, if my head didn’t explode first) but I’m pretty sure that Wim Wenders’ 1987 stunner would be a shoo-in. Like 2001 or Koyaanisqatsi, it is akin to the unenviable task of describing color to a blind person.

I mean, if I told you it’s about a trench coat-wearing angel (Bruno Ganz) who hovers over Berlin, monitoring people’s thoughts and taking notes, who spots a beautiful trapeze artist (Solveig Dommartin) one day and follows her home, wallows around in her deepest longings, watches her undress, then falls in love and decides to chuck the mantle of immortality and become human…well, you’d probably say “Dennis, that sounds like a story about a creepy stalker.” And if I also told you it features Peter Falk, playing himself, you’d laugh and say “I’m being punk’d, right?”

But it’s more than that. It’s about everything, and nothing…now I sound pretentious. OK, maybe you should rent it first, then decide if it’s worth owning. Personally, I own two copies, MGM’s original DVD issue and the new 2009 Criterion edition, which has a markedly improved transfer (greatly enhancing Henri Alekan’s gorgeous B & W cinematography) and a plethora of extras.

Tales from topographic oceans: Avatar **1/2

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on December 26, 2009)

If I was restricted to writing one-line movie reviews (which would undoubtedly make many readers rejoice) I would summarize James Cameron’s super-hyped, epic fantasy-adventure Avatar as: “A three-dimensional masterpiece with a one-dimensional script.”

Then again, Cameron has never lost any money underestimating the attention span of your average  film goer. Sure, his movies tend to go on longer than the Old Testament, but there’s usually an easy-to-follow 90 minute narrative buried somewhere within those 2 ½ to 3 hour running times (padded out by the protracted action set-pieces).

If you do  go for it, you might as well go all the way (you know-get your $300 million worth). This film is like the Baskin-Robbins of movie events-you may be confronted with 31 different choices of viewing experiences. At the multiplex I went to, it was offered  in three auditoriums and in as many formats: 2-D, 3-D and 3-D IMAX.

No one warned me that there would be a pop quiz, so I suffered a few moments of embarrassment. I visualized the people in line behind me rolling their eyes and miming a garroting to amuse their friends as I was vacillating. To save face, I muttered “IMAX” and sheepishly pushed my check card under the window. I suppressed the urge to exclaim “Fifteen fucking fifty? For a matinee?!?!

I hear you. “There IS a 90-word movie review, buried somewhere within this 2000 word rant about the cost of an IMAX screening, right, Dennis?” I just wanted to clarify that prior to this, I was a 3-D virgin. It always seemed gimmicky to me; if I’m really itching to experience the sensation that the actors and I are in the same room , I could attend one  of those oh, what are they called…“stage plays”?

Cameron’s story is simple enough; thematically it is an inverse re-imagining of his 1986 sci-fi adventure Aliens (with more than a few suspicious similarities to Hayao Miyazaki’s Princess Mononoke and John Boorman’s The Emerald Forest).

Set sometime in the future, the story centers on a lush, verdant planet called Pandora, which has been targeted for deforestation and mining by an Earth-based corporation. This doesn’t set well with the planet’s inhabitants, a relatively peaceful race of aboriginal forest dwellers called the Na’vi.

A contingent of Marines has been deployed to help “convince” the locals that it would be in their best interest to cooperate. This doesn’t set well with a small team of research scientists who have been studying and interacting with the Na’vi  via an experimental assimilation method using avatars, which take on the physiology of the aliens. Deadlines have been set, and tensions mount.

Faster than you can say Fern Gully: The Last Rainforest, we are presented with The One Human who could save the day, in the person of a brave young wheelchair-bound Marine named Jake Sully (Sam Worthington). Sully is assigned by the gung-ho Marine commander  to be the military liaison with the tribe (played by a hammy Stephen Lang, getting his Col. Kilgore on).

Sully soon becomes the political football between his C.O., the head researcher (Sigourney Weaver) and the corporate weasel from the mining company (Giovanni Ribisi). Yes, I was thinking “Halliburton reference”, too. Oops-we can’t forget the rote love story-Sully hooks up with a Na’vi babe (a 10 ft. tall and very blue Zoe Saldana).

This is all academic. How many people are flocking to see this for the “plot”? Don’t get me wrong, there were elements that did appeal to me. I liked the idea of a paraplegic hero; the scene where Sully first “finds his legs” in his avatar body is quite moving. Aside from that brief moment, I didn’t find myself getting emotionally invested in the film or its characters.

The “save the forest” theme performed its requisite tug at my big ol’ softie lib’rul tree-hugging lefty heart and all, but it’s become such a hoary movie cliché anymore. By the time the final third dissolved into interminable mayhem, they lost me.

In pure visual terms, the film does live up to its hype, and then some. There are some real knockout scenes, particularly in the film’s first half (before the novelty starts to wear off a bit and it just becomes shit blowing up). Cameron’s inventiveness and flair for mind-blowing production design is the real star here.

Pandora’s otherworldly creatures, topography, and stridently colorful flora and fauna recall Disney’s Fantasia or Rene Laloux’s Fantastic Planet at times. In the film’s best “through the looking glass” moments, I felt like I had been transported inside the world of a Roger Dean album cover.

When all was said and done, the question I was left pondering was this: At what point does a film cease being a “film” and transmogrify into an “event”-or (if I may turn the cynicism up to “11”) a glorified 2 ½ hour infomercial for a video game?

Yes, Cameron has perhaps “changed the game”, regarding the purely technical aspects of film making and movie presentation. But is this ultimately for the good of the art form? When I think of my all-time favorite films, there are two things that they all seem to have in common: heart and soul. And you do not a need a pair of 3-D glasses and IMAX to experience that.

Wild child, full of grace: Where the Wild Things Are ***1/2

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on October 24, 2009)

Pathos, on a cliff by the sea: Where the Wild Things Are

 Shilo, when I was young
I used to call your name
When no one else would come
Shilo, you always came
and we’d play

 -from “Shiloh” by Neil Diamond

Childhood is a magical time. Well, at least until the Death of Innocence…whenever that is supposed to occur. At what point DO we slam the window on Peter Pan’s fingers? When we stop believing in faeries? That seems to be the consensus, in literature and in film.

In Wim Wenders’ Wings of Desire; only children “see” the angels. Even when the fantastical pals are more tangible, the adults in the room keep their blinders on. In Stephen Spielberg’s E.T., Mom doesn’t initially “see” her children’s little alien playmate, even when she’s seemingly gawking right at him. When the protagonist with the “imaginary” friend is an adult, he’s either dismissed as being drunk (Elwood P. Dowd in Harvey), crazy (Ray Kinsella in Field of Dreams), or both (Edward Norton’s character in Fight Club).

These adults, naturally, are acting…“childish”. Why is “childish” such a dirty word, anyway? To paraphrase Robin Williams, what is wrong with retaining a bit of  “mondo bozo” to help keep your perspective? Wavy Gravy once gave similar advice: “Laughter is the valve on the pressure cooker of life. Either you laugh and suffer, or you got your beans or brains on the ceiling.” Basically (in the parlance of psycho-babble) they are advising to “stay in touch with your Inner Child”.

Director Spike Jonze and co-screenwriter Dave Eggars both get their Inner Child on in Where the Wild Things Are, a bold and wildly imaginative film adaptation of the classic children’s book by Maurice Sendak. Blending live action with expressive CGI/Muppet creations, the filmmakers construct a child’s inner fantasy world that lives and breathes, while avoiding the mawkishness that has been the ruin of many a children’s film. In actuality, this arguably may not qualify as such in the strictest sense; perhaps no more so than Lord of the Flies or Pan’s Labyrinth can be labeled as “children’s” films.

Young Max (Max Records) lives with his mother (Catherine Keener) and teenaged sister Claire (Pepita Emmerichs) in suburbia. Max is the type of child who might be described by some as having an “overactive imagination”, by others as a troubled kid). At any rate, we’ll just say that he definitely has some anger management issues stemming from (among other things) feelings of abandonment by his father (whether this situation was precipitated by death or divorce isn’t made quite clear, unless I overlooked something obvious).

He appears to have a loving relationship with his mom, but her job pressures, along with the additional stresses of single parenthood are obviously putting the damper on their quality time. His sister is too sidetracked by the social whirlwind of burgeoning adolescence to take interest in bonding with Kid Brother, and he doesn’t seem to have any peers to hang with. In short, Max is the Lonely Little Boy.

One evening, his mom’s boyfriend (Mark Ruffalo) comes for a visit, triggering an unseemly episode of “acting out” by Max. A defiant standoff with his exasperated mom culminates with Max physically attacking her. Surprised and confused by the ferocity of his own behavior, a spooked Max runs off into the night to wrestle with his demons. Somewhere in the course of this long dark night of his 9 year-old soul, in the midst of a panicky attempt to literally flee from his own actions, Max crosses over from Reality into Fantasy (even children need to bleed the valve on the “pressure cooker of life”).

This pivotal transition is handled beautifully and subtly by the filmmakers; a sequence that I found reminiscent of the unexpectedly lyrical and fable-like interlude in Charles Laughton’s otherwise foreboding noir thriller, The Night of the Hunter, in which the children find respite from trauma via a moonlit, watery escape.

Max washes up on the shore of a mysterious island where he finds that he suddenly has the ability to not only wrestle with his inner demons, but run and jump and laugh and play with them as well. These strange and wondrous manifestations are the literal embodiment of the “wild things” inside of him that drive his complex emotional behaviors; anthropomorphic creatures that also pull double duty as avatars for the people who are closest to him.

At first, the beasts are reflexively territorial, threatening to serve him up for dinner if he doesn’t prove his mettle; Max is quick enough on his feet to figure out that he is going to have to make up in clever invention for what he lacks in physical size to keep himself out of the soup kettle. Somehow he convinces them that he is not only worthy of their trust, but is an excellent candidate to become their “king” as well (I’m no psych major, but if your emotions threaten to consume you, the best way to conquer them is to take control of them, right?)

Max forges an instant bond with the fearsome yet benign Carol (James Gandolfini) who serves as both father figure and soul mate (he also thinks it’s a hoot to rage and howl and break shit to blow off steam). Inversely, Max also is drawn to the calming countenance of Carol’s (Wife? Girlfriend?  Roommate? It’s a little hazy) “KW” (Lauren Ambrose), a morph of a maternal/big sister confidant.

All the voice-over actors (including Forest Whitaker, Chris Cooper and Catherine O’Hara ) do a great job giving the various creatures hearts and souls. The episodic nature of the film’s structure may be trying for some; on the other hand, one must consider that such leaps of faith in logic are, after all, the stuff dreams are made of.

That Jonze and Eggars were able to wring this much compelling narrative and fleshed out back stories from what was essentially a child’s picture book with minimal text and virtually no exposition, and execute it all with such inventive visual flair (lovely work from DP Lance Acord), is quite an amazing accomplishment.

In a way, Jonze was the perfect director for this project. His two previous feature films (both collaborations with the iconoclastic Charlie Kaufman, known for writing densely complex, virtually un-filmable screenplays) were expert cinematic invocations of journeys into “inner space”. In Being John Malkovich, the protagonist literally finds a portal into another person’s psyche; Adaptation dived headlong into the consciousness of a blocked writer.

With his new film, Jonze seems to have drilled a portal both into the mind of Maurice Sendak, and straight into the collective memory of childhood lost. And now, if you will excuse me, I’m going out to the back yard to play for a while. And may your wild rumpus never end.