Ratatouille

Bonjour! Let’s go ahead and treat ourselves to a second helping from the kitchens of Pixar - 2007’s cooking rat tail tale, Ratatouille. The strained food metaphors will now cease.


Tonight on Hell's Kitchen...

This film tells the story of Remy, a young rat who aspires to rise above the low habits of his fellow vermin. Gifted with a fine sense of smell, he one day discovers the joys to be had in combining flavors of different foods, and decides that he was born to be a chef. After becoming separated from his family and the rest of his colony underneath the city of Paris, Remy ends up in the kitchen of Gusteau’s Restaurant, originally opened by deceased Chef Auguste Gusteau (Remy's idol.) He is soon swept up into the world of fine dining, as he and a young human named Alfredo Linguini learn to work together to achieve Remy’s dreams of cuisine. The film has a strong and unique premise, although much of its second half becomes bogged down with subplots involving a love story, a crooked head chef and a villainous restaurant critic.

That ... is absolutely fucking disgusting. Where's the lamb sauce!?

During sequences where Remy observes and practices the culinary arts, the movie soars. Ratatouille is one of the best representations on film of the high that can be experienced when one enjoys or produces true works of art. The process of discovery by which the little rat realizes that he can not only appreciate, but actually create wonderful food, feels very genuine. His continuing enthusiasm for new culinary discoveries is palpable; one actually senses the passion that great chefs (both professional and amateur) feel while working in the kitchen. The film also educates audiences on how a working kitchen operates, including the different kinds of cooks that work together to make it run like a well-oiled machine. Remy himself is a wonderfully likeable character to experience this through, with actor and comedian Patton Oswalt imbuing the lovable rat with an easy warmth. Through Oswalt’s performance, we feel not only the joys of cooking, but also the pitfalls of being a rat in a human world.

You need to communicate! Work together as a team! Donkeys!

As noted in my review of Cars, Pixar has always had a knack for selecting the perfect voice actor for each of their roles, even when their choices seem odd at first. Besides Oswalt, Ratatouille is full of familiar names delivering surprisingly suitable vocals. Ian Holm, who excels at playing short and ineffectual authority figures (and Hobbits,) seems to be having a ball playing the dastardly diminutive Chef Skinner, ranting and raving about the supposed conspiracies at work to bring down his frozen-food empire. An unrecognizable Janeane Garofalo plays chef Colette Tatou, the tough-as-nails rôtisseur who mentors Linguini. And Peter O’Toole, as the vampiric restaurant critic Anton Ego, gets to do his nastiest snobby snarl, like Boris Karloff’s animated Grinch reincarnate. The genial O’Toole clearly relishes every despicable syllable he gets to slither over, creating an amusing, though wholly unlikable character. I know it’s just a cartoon, but when Ego verbally sucker-punches Gusteau’s amiable waiter (Pixar lucky-charm John Ratzenberger,) I felt my teeth clenching; if I were running that restaurant and a critic spoke to my staff like that, he’d get the ol’ fork-in-the-eye.

Can we get security and get this knob back to his seat, yes?

Who really doesn’t do it for me, though, is the main human character, Alfredo Linguini. Played by Pixar production animator Lou Romano, the hapless garbage-boy turned restaurant-owner is a gangling, clumsy buffoon who is supposed to be haplessly likeable. However, I find the character's constant lack of physical coordination and “lovable loser” shtick wears really thin, really fast. Beyond the fact that he doesn’t kill Remy, falls for Colette, and turns out to be the long-lost son of Chef Gusteau, what’s to like about him? In all of his scenes, even after we see his apartment and witness his drunken exchanges with Chef Skinner, we never learn anything more about Linguini beyond his ineptitude. Besides his clumsiness, he has ZERO personality. I imagine he was a fun character to animate, and I hold no ill-will toward Mr. Romano for his vocalization. I also realize that his appeal is supposed to be in his physical comedy, like an animated, modern-day Buster Keaton or Harold Lloyd; however those silent-film performances worked so well partly because they were silent. We therefore didn’t have to suffer through an unending stream of wordless exclamations as they fell about: “Whoah, whoah, whoah-hoaohohowhaooaahh …. Hey, wha-wooahh, I - wha-ha-heyyeyy a-whaa!” Ugh, just kill me now.

I've never, ever, ever, ever met someone I believe in as little as you.

Which brings me to another point of contention with Ratatouille: the whole gimmick of Remy controlling Linguini like a marionette is ridiculous. What the hell sort of miraculous physical abnormality would cause a human being’s entire musculature to be able to be manipulated through a few strands of hair? It’s hard enough to accept that Remy can somehow make the young man’s arms and hands move, but when we witness the rat able to make a sleeping Linguini rise and stand up, like some kind of malfunctioning Gundam suit, it throws all believability out the window. It’s a rather too convenient solution to the film’s central problem and, frankly, smells of lazy writing.
 

You useless sack of fucking yankee dankey doodle shite...

This central issue I speak of is one that everyone must dance around when discussing Ratatouille; it's why the film isn’t spoken of as often as Pixar’s other movies, and why reactions to the film vary wildly from love, to hate, to indifference. When you get right down to it, the movie’s about a rat in a kitchen. While we have Remy standing over a boiling pot of his culinary creations, or hear his voice-over narration discussing the wonders of food, the movie is sublime. But cut to long shots of him scurrying around the restaurant’s refrigerator, or worse, shots of whole swarms of rats running around a kitchen, and one’s skin instinctively begins to crawl. Make the rats as cute and anthropomorphic as you wish, there will always be certain “ick” factor involving vermin around food. While the issue of rat and human coexistence is a recurring theme in the film, it’s treated more like “story wallpaper” than a real challenge for the characters to overcome.
 

Oh my God, look at the state of this fucking place...

While critical praise for the film was near unanimous upon it’s initial release, in years since the film is usually only invoked by the general public when discussing the full Pixar canon, or when someone wants to play the “underrated” card. Director Brad Bird, who is apparently immune from criticism due to the cultish devotion around his 1999 film The Iron Giant, seems to have a habit of heading up films that are heavy with ideas and incident, but fall a bit short when trying to tie everything together (very much like 2004’s The Incredibles and his later Tomorrowland.) While the central premise and main character are a delight, I think Ratatouille could've turned out better if the filmmakers had just cut to the chase, as it's one of the few good Pixar movies that would benefit from some judicious editing. Perhaps a few less characters, or an excised subplot or two would’ve made the film a more streamlined and enjoyable affair.

Whether or not this would’ve helped to resolve the film’s gross central conceit will remain a topic of debate.

Now fuck off...

 

TRON: Legacy

Greetings yet again, programs! It’s time to squeeze back into your unitards and reboot The Grid, as we initiate a scan of 2010’s TRON: Legacy.

Anyone for some Frolf?

A long-gestating sequel to the 1982 original, TRON: Legacy was as unlikely a film to appear as anyone growing up in the ‘80s and ‘90s could’ve expected. As noted in my review of TRON, that film wasn’t exactly a jewel in Disney’s cinematic crown, and was just one of a string of less-than-successful films that helped lead to the ascension of a new management team. Yet the film slowly found its niche as a somewhat popular cult film, being continuously re-discovered by successive generations through television repeats, video and DVD. TRON also lead the charge in the rapid rise of computer graphics as the primary vehicle for cutting-edge movie effects - an interesting development, as the film was originally disqualified for Oscar consideration because of this (the Academy feeling that using computers was “cheating”.) Following the (financial!) success of George Lucas’ Star Wars prequels, however, it seemed that Hollywood became more interested than ever in resurrecting any old or dormant franchises that could pull in fan dollars. Yet even amidst the recent onslaught of sequels, prequels, reboots and shared cinematic universes, TRON still seemed like one of the unlikeliest candidates for a 21st century reimagining - especially one that continued the original storyline, rather than receiving a straight remake.



Not his daddy's Grid

In many ways, though, TRON: Legacy does play like a reboot of the original. Much like Disney’s recent continuation of the Star Wars saga, The Force Awakens, the movie revisits and reinvents many of the same situations and story-beats as the original. As before, we have a protagonist that is sucked into a computer world, forced to fight in gladiatorial video-games, escapes, and joins a pair of video-warriors to take down a tyrannical Program. The fact that this film is "TRON for a new generation” is reinforced from the very start of the film, where the title is given simply as TRON - the full name not shown until the end credits. And while the entire design of The Grid is presented in a much more organic manner (like modern computer effects, trying to mimic reality,) much of the iconography remains recognizable from the original film’s designs. These include the Disc Wars and iconic Light Cycle games, the Recognizer and Solar Sailer transports, and the glowing costumes worn by the cast (achieved this time through physical effects, ironically enough.)

Born to be wild...

Besides the design-upgrades, TRON: Legacy continually dances a fine line between nostalgia and the necessities of contemporary cinema. Many of its most obvious callbacks come rapidly in the reality-set opening scenes of the film, including a flashback to young Sam Flynn’s childhood bedroom, stuffed to the rafters with a nerd's-paradise of TRON (and Black Hole!) figurines, read-along records and bedsheets. We also revisit Flynn’s Arcade, which blasts Journey music (their 1983 hit “Separate Ways” - AKA the best damn song ever) when the power is turned back on - a nice touch. We also get a look at a modern ENCOM corporation, seeming more like a dark version of Apple that employs the offspring of the original film’s villain, Ed Dillinger (played here by Cillian Murphy, in an uncredited cameo) - and the office still has “a big door.” Yet the intensity of the action scenes, the increased physicality of the cast, and the sometimes Matrix-esque cinematography helps to differentiate the film from its predecessor - as does less reliance on technobabble and “geek-speak” to explain itself.


You can't be worried about that shit. Life goes on, man.

Possibly the best example of TRON: Legacy’s past/present merging is in its soundtrack. French techno-mavens Daft Punk provide the adrenaline-pumping score, which one-ups the original film’s music in almost every way. Famed electronica artists and admitted TRON fans, this was the pair’s first (and thus far, only) soundtrack effort, and it’s clear that they studied a few recent film-scoring trends while preparing for the task. The film is full of bold blasts of brass, driving string rhythms and repetitive instrumental hooks, reminding one of Hans Zimmer’s Dark Knight scores. Like the original TRON, however, the duo works in plenty of electronic magic, melding the orchestral music with keyboard-infused melodies and digitized samples. Daft Punk even gets to do a bit of what they do best in a trio of songs accompanying scenes at the electronic “End Of Line” nightclub, in which they have a cameo as a pair of DJ Programs (supplying their own headgear, naturally.)


Take a look at me now...

The cast is a mix of old and new faces. Jeff Bridges returns as an aged Kevin Flynn, his decades trapped within The Grid having turned him from the brash young computer-whiz of the first film into a complicated and contemplative mentor figure. With his grey beard and Zen attitude, Bridges often comes across as a mix of Alec Guinness’ Obi-Wan Kenobi and the actor’s own “The Dude” Lebowski. Bridges also voices (and face-models) the film’s antagonist, the rogue Program CLU. Ever an evolving technology, the motion-capture effects used to bring a younger Jeff Bridges to life are … well … not quite there yet. The filmmakers' best efforts to present a mid-’80s Bridges amidst a cast of live actors never really overcomes the “uncanny valley” syndrome, and all believability falls apart as soon as CLU opens his mouth. Bruce Boxleitner, who’s matured into a gravelly-voiced silver fox, returns as Alan Bradley and also voices a CG-recreation of his TRON character.
 

 

You used to buzz me on my pager,
late night when you need my love...

Heading up the new cast is Garrett Hedlund, who portrays Flynn’s son, Sam. He gives a decent but understated performance, never really rising above the admittedly overwhelming special effects around him. Perhaps the filmmakers could’ve had Hedlund pull double-duty and portray CLU as well, avoiding the ropey CG work and adding a “good son/bad son” element to the story? Strangely, an awful lot of post-release praise has gone to British actor Michael Sheen, playing the duplicitous Program, Castor. The accolades afforded to his flamboyantly campy performance seem to point at a trend of applauding over-the-top acting within genre pictures, something I’ve noticed more and more since the late Heath Ledger’s brilliant performance in 2008’s The Dark Knight. While I’ve always enjoyed a good moustache-twirler, I personally find Sheen’s character really annoying.

Ziggy plaaaaaaayed guitaaaar...

For me, the standout in the cast is Olivia Wilde, playing the "isomorphic algorithm" Quorra, her wide eyes and asymmetrical haircut helping her stand out from a cast full of bland models. Beyond the look, Wilde’s Quorra is a more fascinating character than any other in the film; her seemingly endless desire for knowledge about the outside world brings a sense of childlike wonder that comes across beautifully in the performance. She also portrays her character as a focused fighter and survivalist, her dedicated energy livening up many effects-heavy action scenes. Though Quorra’s character doesn’t go through any major changes over the course of the story, she’s nonetheless fascinating to watch, jumping from wide-eyed dreamer to laser-focused warrior. Seeing her take in a real sunrise in the final scenes is perhaps the best ending one could imagine for both the character and the film itself.


Quorra v2.0, now with Velma Kelly mod

In a case of history repeating itself, TRON: Legacy was released to so-so reviews, praised for its stunning visuals but criticized for its thin plot - just as the original was in ‘82. Astoundingly, however, some critics compared the film unfavorably to the original, suddenly regarding TRON as an untouchable classic. Is this blind nostalgia at work, or sloppy criticism? Certainly TRON: Legacy isn’t the best film by any stretch - the plot is a predictable copy of the original, there’s too much exposition spread throughout the film, and there are some interesting ideas brought up that could’ve been explored further (the digital/organic Iso’s, for example.) In spite of this, there are many (myself included) that appreciate the film for what it is: a well-made modern action film that pays homage to the original. Then again, perhaps too much homage was paid, so that not enough time was spent developing its own identity? Maybe I enjoy the sequel so much because I love the original? I have to point out, however, that there are those - like my significant other - that enjoy this film immensely despite hating the original.


Tight ends only...

The film earned just over $400 million on a $170 million budget, but having put so much time and additional money on a multi-platform marketing blitz, Disney was underwhelmed by the films returns. Despite the greenlighting of a follow-up film in early 2015, and with director Joseph Kosinski and much of the cast ready to go (with a script nearing completion,) by late May Disney had changed its mind and halted any further work from moving forward. Since the company’s acquisitions of Marvel in 2009 and Lucasfilm in 2012 - and the massive financial successes that those brands have garnered - it seems less and less likely that Disney will be pushing ahead with any home-grown sci-fi franchises anytime soon. At least we lovers of the strange and wonderful world of TRON were allowed a brief moment to bask in the glow of the mainstream, and even got a pretty decent movie in the deal.

 

TRON

Greetings, programs! Let’s transport ourselves back to geekdom’s favorite year, 1982, as we zap into the wonderful world of computers for that unique cult favorite, TRON!

Independent filmmaker Steven Lisberger, enchanted by recent advancements in computer imaging and the burgeoning video-game industry, sought to create a full-length animated feature utilizing a combination of light-on-black backlit animation and computer graphics. Setting up shop in California in 1977, his studio produced the popular 1980 television special Animalympics, the profits from which went toward the scripting and screenwriting of his work in progress, titled TRON. Meanwhile, following a failed attempt to jump on the Star Wars bandwagon with 1979’s The Black Hole, Walt Disney Productions’ adventurous president, Ron Miller, was looking for the next big thing to capture the imaginations of a young sci-fi-enamored audience. When Lisberger approached the studio in 1980, TRON’s mix of fantasy-adventure and arcade culture seemed like the perfect match.



There's so much early '80s going on here, my head may explode

The film tells the story of a young software engineering and arcade owner Kevin Flynn (a constantly bemused Jeff Bridges,) who seeks proof that some of his video game designs were stolen by a competing engineer at the ENCOM corporation, Ed Dillinger (ever-reliable bastard David Warner.) He’s aided by his ex-girlfriend, Dr. Lora Baines (Cindy Morgan) and her current beau, Alan Bradley (Bruce Boxleitner,) who help him hack into ENCOM’s computer mainframe, a sinister artificial intelligence called the Master Control Program. The MCP, however, utilizes an experimental digitizing laser (which is oddly pointed straight at a computer terminal) to scan Flynn into a digital avatar, zapping him into a dangerous computer world known as The Grid. There, Flynn joins Alan’s security program, TRON (also played by Boxleitner, sans spectacles,) in his quest to free his fellow enslaved Programs from the MCP and bring peace and freedom back to the system.



The MCP does not approve of the YMCA dance...

Even for those familiar with the film, one thing becomes clear while watching: this is a truly strange movie. The entire concept of being sucked into a computer is weird enough, but then when you make the adventure inside the digital world a religious allegory, that’s a whole other level of bizarre. To the anthropomorphized Programs, the humans who wrote them (dubbed Users) are like Gods. The Master Control Program rules the Grid like a Roman emperor, enslaving those who believe in the Users and forcing them to participate in video games to survive, like the gladiators of antiquity. A fairly straight-forward parable is made difficult to follow, however, by characters who spout off technobabble instead of normal dialogue – some of it cute (“Who does he calculate he is?”), some of it confusing (“Vacate entry port, program! I said, move out!”). And when one is blinded by the special effects and strange look of the film, it’s easy to lose the thread of the plotline. TRON is odd for a science-fiction adventure in that the story starts to make a lot more sense after several viewings; unfortunately, not many seem to want to view the film more than once.

Praying at the altar of Wham-O

Hey, their loss. I won’t lie about it - this movie’s ridiculous, and I love it. When I was a kid, even as special effects were becoming more and more realistic, I was mesmerized by the truly unique look of TRON’s world. There’s something strangely awe-inspiring about the purity of the now-primitive computer graphics; as if we’re being shown what a world as constructed by computers would actually look like, rather than a computer’s attempt to copy reality (which is what special effects do now.) The funny thing is that there are actually not a whole lot of computer-generated effects in TRON. The look of the computer world was achieved by shooting the actors (in their silly unitards) on all-black sets, with black-and-white film, and using photographic effects and manual mattes to combine the live-footage with hand done back-light animation. This unique (and extremely time-consuming) process guaranteed that TRON looked like no other film before - or since.

Sheer poetry...

Even the film’s music sounds like it came from a realm of digital fantasy. Wendy Carlos, who brought classical music to keyboard enthusiasts with her popular 1968 album Switched-On Bach, creates electronic music that sounds like a pulpy 1930s action-serial processed through a synthesizer. Her “TRON Theme,” played in its entirety over the film’s end credits, is memorable for its seamless blend of synthesizer, pipe organ and chorus. Not only that, but we’re also treated to a pair of awesome songs by Journey! Well, we really only get the song “Only Solutions” repeated several times, as their guitar instrumental “1990’s Theme” is inaudible in a single scene (thankfully.)



Is your dance belt riding up too?

I have to hand it to the cast of the film, who potentially could’ve disappeared completely into the visuals, but instead create fairly memorable characters. Jeff Bridges always plays variations on Jeff Bridges, and it’s put to good use here as the youthfully glib computer whiz. He plays well off of the steely seriousness of Boxleitner’s TRON, who comes alive when he is able to contact his messianic User, or when he’s battling other video-warriors with his power-disc skills (in other words, he’s rad with a Frisbee.) Cindy Williams (who naturally receives the tightest unitard in the cast) downplays her Program character, YORI, more than her human Dr. Baines; yet her big, expressive eyes make the character come across as ethereal, rather than mousy. Veteran character-actor Barnard Hughes, who plays both the human Dr. Walter Gibbs and the Program DUMONT, brings some much-needed warmth and humanity to both the real and computer worlds – though he gets the silliest costume of all as the guardian of a cathedral-like Input/output tower, where Programs commune with their Users.



Why do I have to act inside a giant toilet? I was in Midnight Cowboy, dammit!

Released to so-so reviews and modest financial returns, TRON was not the blockbuster Disney hoped for, nor was it the box-office disaster some would later claim (or assume) it was. Most every critical appraisal agreed that the film was visually stunning, but the story uninspired. Yet as time passed, and other movies released around the same time were forgotten by the general public (including some that were more financially successful,) TRON simply refused to disappear completely from the pop-culture radar. Amongst young animators at Disney (and elsewhere,) including John Lasseter and others who would go on to form Pixar, it opened up new vistas of artistic expression through technology. More than a dated curio, the film slowly built up a large cult following amongst science-fiction fans, gamers, hackers and even a few impressionable young Disney fans. Watching the movie on TV during one of The Disney Channel’s week-long free previews, thrilling to the adventures of Flynn and TRON from my seat on the living room rug, the seven-year-old me knew he was experiencing something singular and unique. He also wouldn’t have believed that twenty years later something extraordinary would happen … a miracle.

 

 

Sleeping Beauty

Wakey wakey, sleepy head. Let’s venture back into Fantasyland today, and take a look at 1959’s Sleeping Beauty, Walt Disney’s 16th animated feature.


He's climbin' in ya windows, he's snatchin' ya people up, tryin' to kiss 'em...

Following the success of 1950’s Cinderella, Disney decided to push ahead with another fairy tale adaptation, which followed the exploits of a fair-haired young princess yet again. Work on the film was slow; artists struggled to adapt the unwieldy folk-tale into a workable screenplay, animators came and went from the project, and Walt himself became increasingly occupied with the opening of Disneyland. Work ploughed ahead in earnest later in the decade, with the animators struggling to bring the flat, modernist character designs to life against the stunning backgrounds designed by artist Eyvind Earle (who based his designs on medieval tapestries and works from the Italian renaissance.) The film had five credited directors, each working on either an individual character or specific sequence (with artist Clyde Geronimi credited as Supervising Director,) and was mostly pre-filmed with live actors on a stage to be used as visual reference - a practice many animators saw as a creatively stifling crutch.



Rope-drop at the Magic Kingdom

What was eventually produced stands as one of the most gorgeous movies (animated or otherwise) to ever grace the silver screen. It’s clear that every decision made, from the aforementioned art style to the use of large-format Super Technirama 70mm film for exhibition, that Disney was looking to make their latest fairy tale a truly theatrical spectacle. From the impressive opening, in which throngs of revelers stream into the castle of King Stefan (voiced by Taylor Holmes,) to the climactic battle between Prince Phillip (Bill Shirley) and the evil Maleficent (Eleanor Audley,) each sequence looks like a medieval storybook come to life. Earle’s wide background vistas are so detailed and handsome that they could be hung in an art museum. The soundtrack, originally presented in thunderous 6-track stereophonic sound, also impresses. Frequent Disney collaborator George Bruns, conducting the Graunke Symphony Orchestra, adapted Tchaikovsky's 1890 Sleeping Beauty ballet into the film’s score and its songs. The forest-set “Once Upon a Dream” sequence is a stand-out number, and really makes one wonder why more of Disney’s “love songs” aren’t waltzes instead of torch songs.

I've had the time of my life ... and I owe it all to you...

Despite the nearly decade-long production and countless hours put into its creation (and a then-record budget of $6 million,) the film was met with lukewarm reviews and disappointing box-office returns. Disney would end up laying off many of its animators, and the 1960s would see budgets and ambitions cut from its animated features; hence the change to the economical Xerox process of copying art to cells, started with 1961’s One Hundred And One Dalmatians. Disney would not produce another animated film based on a fairy tale until 1989’s The Little Mermaid.

Im'ma buy you a drank, then Im'ma take you home with me...

As visually breathtaking as the movie is, I have to agree with many that feel there’s a certain coldness to the whole affair. The sharp, stylized art does sometimes come off as stiff and stilted, lacking the cartoony “squash-and-stretch” technique that made previous films like Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs feel more charming. The backgrounds, as noted, are wondrous in their size and theatricality, but help to reduce any sense of realism that the studio’s earliest features strove for. The widescreen photography, as grand a spectacle as it is, does not always draw one’s eye instinctively to the on-screen characters, who are sometimes lost in the composition unless moving or drawn in close-up.

Wait, what am I looking at here?

Most characters, despite valiant efforts by the voice cast, are not served well by the script, and end up lacking likeability. Mary Costa, who voices the grown-up Aurora, has a beautiful voice – but doesn’t sound like a sixteen year old. Aurora ends up coming off more like some regal Barbie doll than a protagonist. It doesn’t help that we only see her in a few brief scenes before she goes to sleep, in which she falls in love with a stranger, pouts about not being able to see him, and then falls under hypnosis. Truly and unfortunately, she's possibly the least progressive of Disney's princesses.

Life in plastic ... it's fantastic!

The voice actor who ends up served best is the great Eleanor Audley as Maleficent, one of the finest “nasty women” Disney ever produced (is she a woman, though? Are those horns, or a headdress? Why’s she green?). Despite fighting tuberculosis at the time of recording (or maybe because of it,) her voice is perfectly suited to the “Mistress of All Evil.” While portrayed as a vain witch whose bitch-switch is stuck in the ON position, there’s undeniable delight to be had in watching her order a roomful of burly guards to “stand back, you fools!” She’s also one of the few Disney animated characters to get away with some light swearing, as she confronts Prince Phillip (after having had enough of his fairy-assisted heroic bullshit) and declares that now he “shall deal with me … and all the powers of Hell” before turning into a badass dragon. God Damn!

You may think you're so powerful - ah, ha ha, well - this is my dream!

Even understanding that Sleeping Beauty is a fairy tale (and as such requiring a healthy dose of suspension of disbelief,) much of the story is head-scratchingly odd, and many of the characters display astounding lapses in common sense. The entire plot hangs on the fact that the royal family chose not to invite a sorceress to their baby’s christening. It’s hard to tell without any background (live-action prequels notwithstanding) but is there a reason for this? The King and Queen already seem aware that she’s someone not to be trifled with; hence their nervousness when she does show up. How could they not know Maleficent would be furious, then? Why not just throw her a bone and send an invite? It’s not like they were being discreet about throwing the party, either: the entire kingdom was seen marching toward the castle, singing the praises of the newborn princess.

Maleficent poses for her heavy metal album cover

Once Maleficent does crash the party, and decrees that Aurora will prick her finger on a spinning-wheel spindle and die upon her sixteenth birthday, the royal family goes paradoxically helicopter-parent, by burning every spinning-wheel in the land, and absentee-parent, by shipping their baby off with a trio of fairies to hide out in a woodland cottage. Is their castle honestly less safe than a random cabin in the woods? Does it have a panic room or something? Maybe so, because the minute Aurora returns home, BOOM! She pricks her finger and drops dead asleep. They had been planning all this for a decade-and-a-half! Just to be safe, couldn’t everyone have just waited ONE MORE DAMN DAY to bring Aurora back!? Or would MTV only shoot My Royal Super Sweet Sixteen on her actual birthday?

Freakin' useless...

I feel I'd be remiss if I failed to point out that the fairies, Flora (red one,) Fauna (green one,) and Merryweather (blue one) are real dipshits. Apparently unable to directly undo Maleficent’s magic, they spend years as mortals raising the refugee princess, but (a) never learn how to bake, (b) never learn to sew, (c) never let Aurora in on the situation for her own safety, (d) let themselves be spotted during a petty dispute over dress color, and, after all this trouble, (e) leave Aurora alone to be hypnotized by Maleficent. Why can’t they undo Maleficent’s magic anyway? Is there a code of fairy conduct they follow? Merryweather has no problem turning the villain’s pet crow to stone during the film’s climax, and Flora can enchant a sword to fly straight into a dragon’s heart, but they can’t directly harm Maleficent themselves? They couldn't at least cast a spell that makes Aurora wake up after a short catnap or something?

These are all silly nitpicks, of course. Disney’s most recent re-release of Sleeping Beauty promoted the film as “the ultimate fairy tale,” and it certainly is that. With a damsel in distress, fairies, a wicked sorceress, royalty, evil dungeons, dragons and what-have-you, this film really gives Ridley Scott’s Legend a run for its money as the definitive cinematic fairy-story. It remains one of my most favorite examples of the possibilities of what great art can be produced through motion-picture animation, and should be seen by everyone at least once in their lifetime.

Fire walk with me...

The Island At The Top Of The World

Hot on the heels of our weeklong celebration of humanities’ relationship with the animal kingdom, let’s look at a movie that climaxes with some good old-fashioned whale beating! It's 1974’s high-flying adventure, The Island At The Top Of The World!

Set in 1907, the film follows American archaeologist John Ivarsson (played by tall drink of water David Hartman,) as he is called into the posh home of an English aristocrat named Sir Anthony Ross (Donald Sinden.) An expert in the Arctic as well as Scandinavian lore, Ivarsson is rapidly swept up into a hastily-prepared expedition to a legendary lost island, where Ross’ son, Donald, is believed to have gone missing. The set up for the plot is given swiftly, through dialogue between the two men as they travel on foot, by coach, and then by boat toward their destination. This helps get the momentum going, and sets a quick pace that the film will follow for most of its running time. Sinden gives a memorable performance, his drive to locate his estranged son helping to push the action forward. His constant insistence that he and his crew must continually push forward brings to mind 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea’s Captain Nemo, only not so schizophrenic. With his beard, baritenor voice and British-sophisticate manner, Sinden appears and acts like a cross between Orson Welles and Mary Poppins’  David Tomlinson.

The pair travels to France, where Ross has funded the construction of a large dirigible, designed and captained by the eccentric French pilot Captain Brieux (played with wide-eyed bluster by Jacques Marin.) The airship, dubbed the Hyperion (in a nod to the Disney Company’s own history,) is a fancifully-designed Victorian vessel that serves as a central visual icon for the film. Realistically sized and shown to run on gas-powered propellers, the design may be too modest to qualify as “steam-punk,” but is memorable nonetheless, and even ended up as a life-sized prop in Disneyland Paris' Café Hyperion years later.


Big bag o' gas

The trio (there’s an unseen mechanic, but he’s soon ditched) return to the Eskimo village where the young Ross was last reported, meeting with a local named Oomiak (portrayed by Japanese-American actor Mako Iwamatsu.) On Sir Anthony’s insistence, they continue forward with the frightened native in tow, basically kidnapping the young man against his will. Oh well, they apparently figure, there’s a White man in trouble and a guide is needed, willing or not. I have to admit that at least Ivarsson shows some compassion for Oomiak, but his excitement at the prospect of a new discovery leads him to not push the issue. No matter, as Oomiak soon befriends the ship’s mascot – the Captain’s poodle, Josephine, who continually moans the same stock-sounds as the dog from Disneyland’s Pirates of the Caribbean.


Happy Leif Erikson Day ... Hinga Dina Doergen!

Our intrepid crew soon reaches the mist-shrouded island (after passing a pod of Narwhals – GODDMAMNED NARWHALS!!), which leads to some nail-biting scenes of the Hyperion slowly making its way around cliffs and through icy canyons in order to reach it. Despite the captain’s best efforts, Ross, Ivarsson and Oomiak are thrown from the ship, and the Hyperion spins off, out of control. I have to say that I actually felt a twinge of sadness when this happened, with the Captain and his dog peering out hopelessly from the gondola’s window as the ship spiraled off into the fog. No time for regret, though, as the remaining crew are promptly captured by Vikings! Turns out that this hidden island, a lush volcanic oasis surrounded on all sides by ice, is inhabited by a village full of the Nordic seafarers’ offspring – and the junior Ross (David Gwillim) is alive, shacked up with a young woman named Freyja (played by golden-haired Swedish actress Agneta Eckemyr.)


Welcome to the Norway Pavilion Astragard!

Once the party reaches the island (called Astragard by the villagers,) the pacing of the movie slows considerably – as if Sir Anthony’s discovery of his son has tempered his furor to push ahead, and the film itself obligingly does the same. Though taking up a bit less screen-time than the journey there, our time on the island feels much more drawn out. Ivarsson is called upon at this point to serve as the exposition-giver, supplying his crewmates (and the audience) with a steady stream of Viking tidbits that relate to the actions occurring around them; fortunately David Hartman’s warm drawl helps this from becoming too tiresome.


Ladies and gentlemen, direct from Hell - Spinal Tap!!

Before long, the village’s fearsome Godi (a head chieftain,) weary of strangers from the outside world, decrees that they should be killed. This sets off a lengthy climactic flight from the village through the volcanoes and ice caverns that surround the island. Once through, and while floating on a makeshift raft of pack-ice, the group encounters a half-frozen graveyard of whales, foretold of by Norse legends. Before they can escape this, however, they are attacked by a pod of Orcas (“killer whales!”) Our heroes naturally grab the nearest whale-bones they can reach and start beating the attacking orcas off – until they’re finally rescued by Captain Brieux (who survived in the Hyperion – what luck!), who promptly shoots each of the whales dead. Huzzah!


(Don't) Save the whales

It’s in its final reel that The Island At The Top Of The World begins to most closely resemble its nearest Disney family-adventure cousin, 1962’s In Search Of The Castaways. While Castaways was a deliriously over-the-top cliffhanger (as noted in my review of that film,) Island tends to stick with somewhat more believable thrills, at least until the climax. Despite this, one almost gets the feeling that this story was written as something of a spiritual sequel to that earlier film (just as Castaways felt like a successor to Swiss Family Robinson.) Both films deal with the recovery of a long-lost family member in a faraway locale, prompted by a chance discovery (here a page from a book, in Castaways a note in a bottle) and resulting in a climactic chase through a volcanic island. Both stories come from books (Castaways was a Jules Verne novel, Island a novella called The Lost Ones by Ian Cameron,) though I was surprised to learn that the original story was set in 1960 – meaning the filmmakers decided to adapt the film into a Verne-esque Victorian yarn, similar to Castaways, but likely trying to capture some of that old 20,000 Leagues magic.

Apparently plans were afoot at Disney to adapt other elements from Cameron’s story into a sequel, named after the original book. However the film failed to set the box-office alight, and so it remains as an enjoyable (if somewhat pedestrian) adventure curio, enjoyed mainly by those willing to delve deeply into Disney’s live-action catalogue.