Movie Review: Secret of the Kells

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The taint – if you can call it that – that animation is a medium only for kids persists. Sure, the last 20 years has seen an explosion of adult cartoons, particularly on television. From ‘Ren and Stimpy’ to the ‘Family Guy’, the humor in these shows is subversive in large part because they use a “kids” genre to tell dirty jokes and explore adult themes.

What I want is more adults to enjoy animated films for their art; for the fact animation often represent a purer filmmaker vision less adulterated by moody actors or bad lighting. So what I want is an animated film that appeals to everyone; films that are not a “kids” film or an “adult” cartoon. What I’m looking for is classic transcendent.

The Secret of the Kells is one of this year’s best. It is gorgeous. Warm, hand drawn animation that is unexpectedly, breathtakingly beautiful with a dream like quality where one’s breath curls into fractals and Celtic weaves lace the trees. The hand drawn animation, its character, its simplicity, its imperfections, depicts the story’s world perfectly. The a story of innocence and beauty enduring against war and intolerance.

The Secret of the Kells involves a young monk-in-training pursuing his curiosity of nature and talent for calligraphy during the turmoil of Ireland’s Middle Ages where Vikings raided and pagan gods hid in the forests. The boy’s adopted uncle, an abbot, obsessively builds a wall to protect a small village from these threats. The boy, curious and talented, is torn between a strong love for his uncle, the attractive promise of adventure in the forest, and the tutelage of a wise and mischievous newcomer who, for all the world, looks like Willie Nelson.

As my wife pointed out, consider the film an allegory. In building the walls that protect us from legitimate fears, we may also wall ourselves from the good and beautiful. Perhaps a not so subtle take on our time.

If a masterpiece, a simple poem unlocks heavy vaults of imagery. The simple animation of Secret of the Kells unveils a filmmaker’s complex vision: order from chaos, humor from fear, hope from the hot ashes of evil, and beauty everywhere. The Secret of Kells is a masterpiece.

The Secret of Kells plays this weekend at out beloved Gold Town Nickelodeon. And though a movie to be enjoyed by children and adults, some visions of Viking violence and hungry wolves are probably too much for the tykes. This is Clint Farr, Alone at the Movies.

Movie Review: Iron Man 2

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"Iron Man 2" is an example of a trend I’ve enjoyed over the last decade of real actors cast as super heroes. Actors like Tobey Maquire as Spiderman, Eric Bana or Ed Norton as the Hulk, Hugh Jackman as Wolverine, or even Christian Bale as Batman. (Despite his annoying, “I’m not wearing hockey pads,” Batman-voice). Even the directors of these films have roots in independent cinema like Batman’s Christopher Nolan or Spider Man’s Sam Raimi. As such, these movies tend to be pretty good. But because these actors and directors focus on character, (not a bad thing mind you), it seems they leave the action and associated special effects to the technical folks.

So perhaps we’ve come to a point where these artists capsize the normal action movie formula. A movie where the “talky” part is captivating and interesting, while the “actiony,” special effects part is, frankly, boring. Because, really, we’re at a point technologically that whatever you can imagine visually can be depicted realistically on film. Back in the day, we used to marvel at special effects, like stop motion skeletons battling Sinbad, because we were really marveling at the advancement of film making technology. In the last five years or so, special effects seem to have reached a plateau; we’ve become blasé. Thanks a lot “Lord of the Rings”. It’s hard to be impressed when you think a scene was developed with a few mouse clicks and 15 million dollars.

So, it’s back to basics. A movie “wows” us with good acting, writing, and a story that makes us care. For "Iron Man 2", that only happens in between CGI stuff blowing up.

"Iron Man 2" boasts a heavy weight cast of real actors: Robert Downey Jr., Gwyneth Paltrow, Don Cheadle, Scarlett Johansson, Sam Rockwell, Samuel Jackson, Jon Favreau (who happen to be the director), Gary Shandling, and the brutally charismatic Mickey Rourke. They play the kind of character that can throw together a new element promising endless energy with some conduit, duct tape, a prism, plumber’s wrench, holographic blue prints, and bulging biceps – all to an aural backdrop of AC/DC.

One final thought on this film, "Iron Man 2" might be more aptly called Two Men of Plastic. Mickey Rourke, with his puffy lips and small tight eyes, is a well known example of plastic surgery gone wrong. He looks like hell. But it works for Mickey because so far his comeback roles are all men who’ve had their faces rearranged in hell. The other actor is none other than Gary Shandling. This once sly and irreverent comedian looks like he had a face transplant with the plant from Little Shop of Horrors. It’s weird. Hollywood’s plastic surgery fetish is pulling me out of the story. That’s not good if you’re a filmmaker.

"Iron Man 2" plays this weekend at Gross Alaska’s 20^th Century Twin theater downtown. This is Clint Farr, so far surgery free, and Alone at the Movies.

Movie Review: Kick Ass

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How many grandparents dragged their grandkids out of “KickAss” within the first 20 minutes when they realized this kid’s movie about kids playing superhero is really not kid’s movie at all. Oh sure, it’s got an ‘R’ rating, but I’ve seen way to many toddlers at R movies, with their grandparents, to think that keeps the little ones out. So I want to be clear – do NOT bring your children to see “Kick Ass”. They will forever be warped, their brain chemistry will change. They’ll want to dress up in a green SCUBA suit and try to beat up drug dealers and get themselves put into an ER unit – JUST LIKE THE MOVIE. (I know I did). For this is an insane film. Not clinically insane, not pejoratively insane, but the good kind of insane: wacky, out there, left field, original. Yeah, if at last I’ve seen an original comic book film, this is the one.

So, if you can leave your children and sensibilities behind, this is a thoroughly fantastic film. I don’t believe I’ve been this entertained since “District 9” and “Inglorious Basterds”. Really. “Kick Ass” is unexpectedly, inexplicably good. I should be so offended by this film: the endangerment of children, the vigilantism, the ultra, ultra violence, blood freakin’ everywhere, giant microwaves, Nicolas Cage, and awful stereotypes. Then they’re all taken en masse, spun on their heads, and up pops a sincere moment of tenderness, a clever bit of kind humor, romantic love, and of all things, a story of dad and daughter taking on a hostile world. In short, by the third act you care about the characters. And if I care, then I love a film – even if the daddy and daughter I care about take on the hostile world with creative knife work and shooting the bad guys in the head.

If you’re looking for morals, they ran screaming toward the exits with the grandparents.

And oh what a third act. If along the way, you thought, this movie may be the craziest thing you have ever seen, two kids proceed to … well, you’ll just have to see it. It reminded me of a John Woo film like “Face/Off” where there’a slow motion gun ballet, bodies flying, birds flying off to nowhere for no reason, a dissonant song underplaying the action like “twinkle twinkle little star”, bad guys in suits, good guys in capes, and a whole lot of paper and junk floating around. A visual feast of violent chaos and somehow it is both bloody and beautiful.

And completely messes with your head.

Clearly, “Kick Ass” is not, and isn’t meant to be, for everyone. It is, I kid you not, a coming sign of the Apocalypse. But if I were you, go see it, and just don’t tell anybody, except maybe your priest. “Kick Ass” will be playing this weekend at Gross Alaska Glacier Cinema in the Valley. This is Clint Farr, concerned for his soul, and Alone at the Movies.

Movie Review: Date Night

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I don’t know if I like “Date Night” because it was good, or because my wife and I could have been the couple depicted in the film. This film aims squarely at the professional married couple, in their late thirties or forties, both working, who have young kids (because they waited to have kids until they owned a house), who love each other very much, who – perhaps - long for some of the fire and freedom of their early courtship, and who are tired. Very tired. As Phil and Claire Foster, played by Steve Carell and Tina Fey, are pummeled by their children at 5:30 in the morning, Phil mutters “And it begins”. Heck. That could’ve been this morning.

Now, given the movie’s title, it’s no surprise the plot takes off during a “Date Night” where they leave the kids with a sitter and go have salmon and potato skins at the same restauran. In an effort to mix things up, to bring a little spark the latent coals of their desire, Phil takes Claire to a fancy Manhattan restaurant where they tell a lie to get a seat. A case of mistaken identity follows leading to a series of chases, fights, gunfights, encounters with a shirtless Marc Wahlberg, and mild hilarity.

Tina Fey and Steve Carell in a shoot ‘em up?! Well, yes. Does it work? Well, sort of

It works, sort of, because Tina Fey and Steve Carrell are not only funny actors but good. Sure they have ticks like Steve’s funny voices and Tina’s sideways glances, but they’re both watchable and believable. What more do you want from actors in a rambunctious action slash comedy? That said, the actors are clearly more comfortable in their comic back and forth than in the running, diving, driving, and ducking bullets. Plus the subplot that drives the action is never well developed, and, frankly, stupid. So the thriller aspects of this film never really thrill you. Ronin, this movie is not.

But I love Tina Fey. She’s smart and funny. Steve Carell is great too. The two look like they could actually be married, rare for a movie couple, and both look their age. There’s an underlying intelligence to their interactions that should have been showcased even more. For instance, in a bit when the two pose as a stripper and pimp, Tina Fey has a hard time finding an outfit to cover her cesarean scar. It’s one of the funny parts in a rather low point in the film, in part because it felt real. How do you cover your cesarean scar when putting on a hoochie mama dress? I felt a tinge of sympathy as these characters faced their age. It was a poignant moment and hinted at the better movie this could’ve been.

So, the film is watchable solely based on the talents of Ms. Fey and Mr. Carrel. I’m disappointed. These two deserve a better movie and I hope they team up again.

Anyway, if you’re married, and it is date night, and the kids are healthy, and you’re not too exhausted, and you can find a sitter, and there’s no dance recital or soccer game, and there’s no ski or Spanish lessons in the morning, and you want to see a movie, this one will resonate with you. If you are young, single, without kids, get to sleep in, stay out late, party, and work out regularly, well, I hate you.

Um, “Date Night” is playing this weekend at Gross Alaska Cinema in the Valley. This is Clint Farr, Alone at the Movies.

Movie Review: 44 Inch Chest

A decade ago I saw the film “Sexy Beast” which ended up being one of my favorites of the decade. It was a fast film about retired gangsters pulling “one more heist” that featured Ray Winstone, Ian McShane, a ferocious Ben Kingsley, and giant trippy rabbits. So imagine my excitement when I heard the writers of Sexy Beast were reuniting with Ray Winstone and Ian McShane in “44 Inch Chest”. I was so excited to see another rough, witty, shoot ‘em up. I was so excited I got a babysitter. This was a Special Occasion.

I can’t imagine a movie more different in style that “44 Inch Chest” is from “Sexy Beast”. Sure, there are some elements shared between the two films: offensive language, aging gangsters, and occasional slaps of humor. But where Sexy Beast used a frenetic camera and a number of locations, 44 Inch Chest stayed in one place. It seems like it was written as a play. It’s basically one set, stationary camera work, and a whole bunch of dialogue. So forget Sexy Beast, 44 Inch Chest is more like a British version of Reservoir Dogs – heavy subject matter, violent men, and flashes of humanity.

So, if you’re going to sit through a talky movie, you’re going to want actors who can deliver the lines. In this regard, the movie does not disappoint. Ray Winstone plays Colin Diamond, a man wronged. He is helped out by his, I suppose, gangster buddies including characters played by Tom Wilkinson, John Hurt, and Ian McShane. Tom Wilkinson and John Hurt have both been nominated for two Oscars. Remember the crushingly painful performance in the Elephant Man, well that was a much younger John Hurt. Here he plays an irascible old man, an ex-gangster with a mouth like an angry sailor with turrets. Ian McShane you might know from his golden globe winning performance in the HBO show Deadwood. Here again he plays a man of otherworldly cool, unflappable.

Colin is not a good man. He’s a horrible man. Yet his turmoil, his guilt, his conscious is evident. And so you find yourself feeling, maybe, a little for this man. And that in turn makes you feel bad, a little dirty. Thus this stolid, steady, talky film makes you a part of it. This film makes you question your ethics, your judgment, your morals. That’s quite a result from a 2-dimensional interplay of light, celluloid, and sound. That is the magic, the power, of movies.

Well, perhaps that a bit of an overstatement for this film. But where this is not an “entertaining” film in the vein of “Sexy Beast”, it is a work of Art. If by Art you mean a work that pulls you in and makes it personal. 44 Inch Chest plays this weekend at our beloved Gold Town Nickelodeon.

And hey, it’s pledge week. No group of radio stations captures the breadth and depth of arts in Juneau than the KTOO family of stations. Give it up, and I don’t mean applause, for this incredible community resource. This is Clint Farr, proud ten year KTOO member, alone at the movies.

Movie Review: Diary of a Wimpy Kid

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In the seven or so months I've been Alone at the Movies, I've given positive reviews to every film I've seen. That's a problem for a film reviewer. I mean, I'm a critic, shouldn't I criticize something. This congers uncomfortable questions like: Are you too nice? Are you useful to the 3 people listening to this who are not your wife? What is your purpose? And so, teetering on this existential precipice, I went to see “Diary of Wimpy Kid”.

It would be funnier at this point to say I liked the movie. Sadly, I did not. And I know, sad is a weird emotion to have toward a mediocre movie. It’s just, with “Diary”, there were glimpses of what could have been. There were glimpses of true wit, glimpses of good ideas, glimpses of insight into the pain of navigating Junior High. But glimpsing what could have been, witnessing a work not reach it’s full potential, is like window shopping men’s shoes in Italy, beautiful, but way too expensive for your state salary.

Okay, “Diary” is nothing like window shopping in Italy for shoes. It’s more like golf in Juneau, post holing up Peterson Cabin Trail with a 60 pound pack, or not having boat in early August. You know, frustrating.

So basically, a brainy and bratty kid, with an eclectic family starts junior high with a goal of being liked, cool, the man. He is saddled by a geeky and un-self-conscious best friend, but more importantly, he is saddled with a debilitating self-centered view of the world. There are wild-and-crazy characters, wise-beyond-their-years characters, and moldy cheese. This is a “paint by numbers” movie, an expensive after school special, so lessons are learned, family is supportive, and friendships are strengthened.

Honestly, I don’t like giving bad reviews. I don’t have the stomach for this. I feel like a school yard bully slamming this film to the pavement. I could talk about how being a kid’s movie is not an excuse for lack of nuance. I could talk about the misuse of stock characters; or how use of stock characters is just lazy. Or I could talk about the bad acting. But you know, the actors are all 12, so yes, the acting’s a bit stilted…

Look, if you go out this weekend, and you’re without kids, and the Scorsese film is still playing, go see that. I hear it’s awesome. But maybe, just maybe, if you have a sixth grader and there is absolutely nothing else to do, check out a “Diary of a Wimpy Kid”. There may be worse wastes of time, but I can’t think of any.

“Diary of a Wimpy Kid” plays this weekend at Gross Alaska theaters. This is Clint Farr, Alone at the Movies.

Movie Review: Alice in Wonderland

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Somewhere along the line from love of movies to love of cinema are the first films appreciated for more than their entertainment value. Maybe it was a performance you couldn’t forget, recognition of wit over slapstick, or lines of dialogue you’d repeat until your parents told you to stop, please stop.

At some point a movie impresses you and you can’t really say why beyond, “I’ve never seen anything like that before.” And you know, that happens a lot when you’re 12. Anyways, it’s when you begin to get an inkling for the ringmaster, the person behind the scenes who is imparting a vision –successful or otherwise – for your consideration. That is, the director. There were many movies that impressed me as teen, but when I fell in love with Winona Ryder in Beatle Juice or left Batman saying “That is the Best Movie Ever!”, well, that was Tim Burton.

And so Director Burton has always had a special place in my heart since he was such a part of my education in movies. How disappointing then, that most of his work since Edward Scissorhands have not really struck a chord with me. Which isn’t to say his movies are bad, they’re almost without exception, well, exceptional. His achievements cannot be overstated. For 20 years, Tim Burton has walked the line between artistry and commercial success unlike any other director.

Any movie, whether the smallest character piece or a Tim Burton special effects extravaganza, must have a soul. The audience must care. I think Burton’s film became more about the atmosphere, weird and random worlds, and Johnny Depp’s face; pretty but cadaverous, eye candy with no pulse. And so I approached Alice in Wonderland with trepidation. I want to like his films. I’m rooting for the guy.

And I’m happy to say Burton has delivered. “Alice” is not a perfect film, it runs out of magic in the last 15 minutes, but until then, it’s a lovely ride. It’s a movie that leaves you with a Cheshire grin, chuckling at the audacity of whole thing. It’s a movie where the special effects serve the story a cup of tea.

The players are fantastic. Johnny Depp is predictably excellent as the Mad Hatter. Helena Boham Carter is a worthy of Nicholson’s Joker, making a meal of every second she’s on screen. Anne Hathaway is surprisingly effective as an effete and weakly constitutioned princess. Of all people, with long CG legs that must give Letterman nightmares, Crispin Glover comes out of his madhouse to grace us with a most un-McFly performance. And finally, Mia Wasikowska, a newcomer of dramatic hair plays Alice perfectly. Yet all of it would mean nothing if not for the singular abilities of one Tim Burton, Director. Bravo.

I hope, with Alice in Wonderland, that all the many 10 year olds who watched it with me that night were high-fiving each other afer the movie. Maybe saying, “This was the Best Movie Ever!” or even, “What great direction!” And they’d be right. Alice in Wonderland plays this weekend at Glacier Cinema. This is Clint Farr, Alone at the Movies.