REVIEW COLLECTION: The Library of Studio Ghibli, Part 5 (2016-Present)

WRITER'S NOTE: The following is a collection of reviews posted on my Instagram page @film_freeq. They’ve been organized by their initial release dates.

Never-Ending Man: Hayao Miyazaki (2016) 

A very intimate and insightful documentary that chronicles two years with Ghibli co-founder Hayao Miyazaki. Following his publicly-announced retirement in 2013, when he lamented that an era of films made by pencil and paper had reached its end, Miyazaki embarked on an unexpected new project--tackling CGI for a short film called, Boro the Caterpillar--that challenged the "never-ending" creativity and imagination of the legendary filmmaker/animator. 

Director Kaku Arakawa makes the wise choice to avoid voice-over narration, instead letting the doc's chapters, subjects, and central merging of old and new techniques (while acknowledging their advantages and disadvantages) speak for themselves. There are also themes of moving forward (and how) in an ever-changing world, recognizing the creative spark that is still there, and the nature of being an artist. This is a worthy successor to Arakawa's superb documentary series, 10 Years With Hayao Miyazaki, and a bit of a sneak preview for Miyazaki's next feature film. 

The Red Turtle (2016) 

This one technically isn't a Ghibli entry, let alone animé. But it was a rare case (and a first) where the legendary company produced an animated film outside of Japan. A co-production with Sony Pictures Classics, Wild Bunch, and a team of artists based in France, The Red Turtle is a visual, auditory, and spiritual experience. 

An update of Daniel Dafoe's novel, Robinson Crusoe, the film initially recalls Tom Hanks on his own deserted island in Robert Zemeckis' Cast Away, as the male protagonist in Michaël Dudok de Wit's film attempts to build a raft and return to civilization. It isn't until the titular sea creature--and eventually a mysterious woman--washes ashore that the story gets more original and engaging. 

With parallels to Adam and Eve from the book of Genesis, and a profound and ethereal score by Laurent Perez Del Mar, The Red Turtle is spellbinding, dialogue-free poetry. It's also a challenging piece that blurs the lines between fantasy and reality, with themes of loneliness, mystery, companionship, and family. The result is an affecting and symbolic drama about nature and the cycle of life. What an achievement. 

TRIVIAL FACT #1: The Studio Ghibli logo during the opening credits featured a red background instead of its trademark blue. 

TRIVIAL FACT #2: In one of his last film credits, Isao Takahata served as artistic producer, while fellow Ghibli co-founder Toshio Suzuki served as co-producer. 

Earwig and the Witch (2020) 

Studio Ghibli's first film in four years is also their first attempt at a fully-computer-generated feature. Based on the novel by Diana Wynne Jones (Howl’s Moving Castle), planned by Hayao Miyazaki, adapted by Keiko Niwa and Emi Gunji, and directed by Goro Miyazaki, Earwig and the Witch has been met with mixed to negative reception from critics and Ghibli devotees. The story follows an orphaned girl who is taken in by a mysterious couple, forced to do various chores, and soon learns that her mother was a witch. 

Set in an English countryside, Earwig has personality and emotion, considering the soundtrack's rock'n'roll vibes. But the CGI is off-putting, and a far cry from what's made Ghibli so wonderful for nearly forty years. It's not exactly uncanny valley territory, but it ironically loses the liveliness and emotional weight of hand-drawn animation (which we do see in the opening and closing credits); only a few scenes (i.e., rain storms, kitchen meals) feel more atmospheric. Add to that some scary (sometimes demonic) images of the adoptive father known as Mandrake, references to potions and spells and voodoo, and a rather disturbing subtext underneath the main song's pop rock beat. Even the titular Earwig pins her hair up like devil horns; something to think about. 

TRIVIAL FACT: An earlier (and, perhaps, better) example of this CGI approach is the 2014 Amazon Prime series, Ronja: The Robber's Daughter (directed by Earwig helmer Goro Miyazaki). 

***

What we know about Miyazaki's highly-anticipated How Do You Live? so far:

1. It's been in production since 2017, and (according to recent reports) may be released as early as 2023. 

2. It's based on a 1937 novel by Yoshino Genzaburo, and is said to be a feature film full of high fantasy and human drama. 

3. Miyazaki has stated in interviews that this will be a parting gift for his grandson, although longtime producer Toshio Suzuki believes the legendary animator/director will continue to work as much as he can after this film's completion. 

REVIEW COLLECTION: The Films of Guillermo del Toro

WRITER'S NOTE: The following is a collection of reviews posted on my Instagram page @film_freeq in 2022. They’ve been organized by their initial theatrical release dates.

Cronos (1993)

The directorial debut of visionary auteur Guillermo del Toro is a unique and richly-detailed spin on the vampire subgenre. I'm usually squeamish about such films, but this one is exceptional, to a degree. Not to say Cronos is without its own nerve-inducing moments, of which there are many. The story involves an elderly antique shop owner who, along with his granddaughter, discovers a mechanical device that promises eternal life. Like an equally-ancient monkey's paw, however, it comes at a great cost. The result is a haunting tale of aging, death, and immortality, that is bittersweet, melancholy, macabre (i.e., the impressive makeup effects, and a key scene where lead actor Federico Luppi literally links blood off a bathroom floor), and ultimately tragic. Del Toro's signature blend of fantasy, horror, violence, and drama are evident (and piercing) from the get-go. 

Mimic (1997) 

The 1990s had a plethora of thrilling-though-forgettable movies involving natural disasters, insane action, and creepy critters. This insect-centered fright-fest, about scientists who use cockroach DNA to cure a deadly virus, is one of them. Guillermo del Toro has gone on record that this is the one film of his that he regrets the most. As another reported case of studio interference (i.e., convoluted jump cuts and plot holes, as well as some poor editing), I can't say I blame del Toro. Despite some impressive shots, gritty cinematography, some committed performances (including Mira Sorvino), and an all-around eerie atmosphere (ditto some truly gross-out creature effects), this body horror movie falls short. At least it's an improvement over that year's more unnecessary (and downright pornographic) sci-fi sequel Alien: Resurrection. But that's far from a recommendation. 

The Devil's Backbone (2001) 

Guillermo del Toro's third feature film (and only his second made in his native Mexico) is a haunting supernatural period piece set during the end of the Spanish Civil War. The story follows a young boy who is sent to an orphanage and soon discovers its dark secrets, including a ghost child that haunts the underground tunnels. Equal parts historical fiction, horror, and drama, The Devil's Backbone represents one-half of a companion piece alongside del Toro's subsequent 2006 feature, Pan's Labyrinth. Full of poetic imagery consisting of blood, water, u-bombs, and occasional religious iconography, this dark drama sinks into disturbing territory, including eerie sights of babies with eponymous backbones in mason jars, as well as adult orphans letting loose the monsters within. How's that for a scary story? 

Blade trilogy (1998, 2002, 2004)

Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness may be the MCU's first true entry into horror. But it's hardly the first movie from Marvel to fully embrace the genre. Back in the late-1990s, New Line Cinema released a live-action adaptation of the popular half-man/half-immortal vampire hunter Blade. Played with gusto and full commitment by Wesley Snipes, that first film from 1998 was arguably the first time a black superhero headlined a surprise box-office hit. From its opening nightclub bloodbath to its climactic occult standoff, Blade was dynamic, dark, and bloody, effortlessly combining mythology, history, and spirituality in a gritty story that pitted the titular hero against an impending force of evil.

Four years later, Guillermo del Toro injected new life into the franchise with Blade II. In this 2002 sequel, Blade is called in by an opposing vampire army to stop an even deadlier enemy (complete with bizarre tentacled fangs). Full of high-octane martial-arts action and visual symbolism (a latter trademark del Toro excels in), Blade II is agreeably the best in the series, aesthetically speaking. It's certainly the most layered, coolest, and most graphic. (Some images are very nerve-wracking, to be sure.) 

2004's Blade: Trinity turned out to be the weakest entry. Snipes was reportedly furious behind the scenes; he and writer-director David S. Goyer (who penned the first two movies) didn't get along, while the actor took issue with the script's emphasis on supporting stars Ryan Reynolds and Jessica Beil rather than his own character's arc. Ironically, Reynolds (who made his live-action comic-book film debut here, as Hannibal King) was considered by many to be the best part of this otherwise disappointing, standard-issue superhero movie, which involved a resurrected Count Dracula and Blade being hunted by the FBI. It'll be interesting to see how actor Mahershala Ali breathes new life into the titular character in the MCU soon. 

Hellboy DOUBLE FEATURE (2004, 2008) 

Not counting Blade II or The Hobbit film series, the only cinematic franchise that Guillermo del Toro has been thoroughly involved in were his adaptations of artist-writer Mike Mignola's half-demon character Hellboy, first published in Dark Horse Comics in the early-1990s. In a 2021 career retrospect, del Toro claimed that the most interesting thing about Mignola's series was how it seamlessly combined fantasy, mythology, and blue-collar humor. Watching the first film, it's easy to see why. In fact, it was that blue-collar sensibility that convinced the visionary director that veteran character actor Ron Perlman was the only one who could do the character justice--and why del Toro fought for years to get the film made. 

Released by Joe Roth's Revolution Studios in 2004, Hellboy brims with highly-imaginative and grotesque creatures, visual flair, and a fitting role for Perlman to clench his fists into. The same goes for its first-rate supporting cast, including John Hurt's Professor Bruttenholm, Doug Jones' Abe Sapien (voiced by an uncredited David Hyde Pierce), and Selma Blair's Liz Sherman. (One of our favorite lines: "There are things that go bump in the night, and we are the ones who bump back.") 

When del Toro returned for the Universal-distributed 2008 sequel, Hellboy II: The Golden Army, he (with story support from Mignola) was given more creative freedom, as well as room for more comedy on Perlman's part. Featuring intense and well-choreographed fight sequences reminiscent of Blade II and a strange moment where an intoxicated Red and Abe karaoke to Barry Manilow, this ambitious follow-up also features the scene-stealing, German-accented Dr. Kraus (voiced by Seth MacFarlane). 

While not as bad as they could have been, considering their strong, if ironic, thematic drives (i.e., what was intended for evil can be changed for the sake of good), both films can still be misguided as far as their spiritual content is concerned. 

Pan's Labyrinth (2006) 

Like many conventional moviegoers, foreign/international films were not my cup of tea as a younger man. (Not getting passed the subtitles was a general excuse.) My perspective on the matter changed when I first saw Guillermo del Toro's haunting feature, Pan's Labyrinth. Critically-acclaimed upon its release, I was immediately captivated and stunned by its story of an imaginative little girl, named Ofelia, who moves with her pregnant mother to live with her step-father (a sadistic and fascist captain). Discovering a mysterious labyrinth at her new home, Ofelia learns she may or may not be the lost princess of a bygone kingdom, and must complete three tasks to prove herself. 

Combining magical realism with brutal period warfare (the story is set in the early-1940s, following the Spanish Civil War), this wholly original film is a dark and violent fantasy, and certainly not for children. For its targeted adult audience, and especially in a decade that saw a resurgence in the genre, it represents a layered and strong entry about escapism, beauty, and horror in both the magical and real worlds. Set pieces involving the titular faun and the terrifying pale man, both played brilliantly by American actor Doug Jones, are some of the film's highlights. Ditto Guillermo Navarro's amazing cinematography and Javier Navarrete's unforgettable score. Simply put, Pan's Labyrinth is del Toro's masterpiece. 

Pacific Rim (2013) 

Already a few years into the 2010s, cinemas continued their post-modern trend of being over-saturated with big-screen extravaganzas heavy on visual effects and action, and short on substance and character. Such was the preconceived notion with Guillermo del Toro's 2013 kaiju-/animé-inspired romp about Transformers-sized robots duking it out with Godzilla-sized monsters in a futuristic setting. But guess what? It turned out to be an exception to the rule, especially with the visionary filmmaker behind the camera. With an intriguing mythology, impeccable design (the robotic Jaegers are the film's visual highlight), plausible technology, attention-to-detail physics (a few set pieces were done practically), and compelling character arcs (its cast includes Charlie Hunnam, Idris Elba, Rinko Kikuchi, Charlie Day, and del Toro regular Ron Perlman), Pacific Rim is, in two words, really cool. 

TRIVIAL FACT: This film came about after del Toro exited the live-action version of J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit (which he was slated to direct, but stayed on as co-writer and conceptual artist). Would've been amazing to see his interpretation, but that's another story. 

Crimson Peak (2015) 

Guillermo del Toro took on the subgenre of gothic horror with this exquisite and haunting period fiction piece. Mia Wasikowska plays an aspiring writer who moves with her new husband (Tom Hiddleston) to his estate, and soon discovers its dark secrets. Equally played as a haunted house feature, Crimson Peak has lavish production design and art direction, with the eponymous mansion as the film's centerpiece. It's also well-acted, thanks to Wasikowska, Hiddleston, and Jessica Chastain's performances. But this being Gothic horror, it's also very bloody and creepy, with elements of murder investigations, adultery, and secret schemes. So it's no surprise that red and white play a significant role in the film's color palette. Talk about chilling. 

The Shape of Water (2017)

The setting is the 1960s during the Cold War era, and the main character is a mute custodian who meets and falls in love with an aquatic creature. That's the basic premise of Guillermo del Toro's genre-bending romance-fantasy. Despite critical praise and winning numerous accolades (including Oscars for Best Picture--the first time in 14 years that a "fantasy" film was awarded the top prize--and Best Director--del Toro became the third Mexican filmmaker in the decade to win), I don't believe The Shape of Water is the director's best film. (That distinction goes to Pan's Labyrinth.) Sure, The Shape of Water is extremely well-acted (the superb cast includes Sally Hawkins, Octavia Spencer, Michael Shannon, Richard Jenkins, and Doug Jones) and masterfully crafted, combining elements from The Creature From the Black Lagoon, Beauty and the Beast, and Amelie, but in a way that is distinctly del Toro. 

The film's problematic content (protagonist Elisa and the Amphibian man develop not only an emotional relationship, but also a physical and sexual one) unfortunately puts this otherwise creative and endearing story of empathy, bigotry and immigration, out of bounds. To reiterating what I wrote in 2018, "What are we to make of this in a culture that currently brings awareness to sexual misconduct, complicity, and exploitation? Is on-screen nudity really any different?" (You can read my full review from 2017 here.) 

Nightmare Alley (2021) 

Del Toro next dipped his toes into the genre of film noir with the haunting adaptation of William Lindsay Gresham's novel (which was previously made into a full-length feature in 1947). As one of the year's Best Picture Oscar nominees, del Toro's trademarks are on full display in this story of a manipulative carny who, one day, crosses paths with a female psychiatrist that may be more conniving than him. Everything from the film's lavish production design and artistry, strong lighting effects and shadows, skilled direction, grotesque imagery (some involving Mason jars), and engrossing characters and performances (Bradley Cooper and Cate Blanchett remind us why they're some of the greatest actors of their generation) is tonally consistent, resulting in a thematic slow-burn. Personally, it's an improvement over del Toro's previous film, The Shape of Water, certainly from a visual and visceral perspective. 

But because this qualifies as a psychological thriller (as if the title wasn't any indication), it moves in directions that are shocking and emotionally damaging. (One scene involving suicide is especially sad.) Other themes, besides deception, include affairs, murder, secrets, and misguided spirituality. Del Toro is a master filmmaker and craftsman, no doubt. But this (like many of his other films) is an alley most should think twice about before walking down. 

Review for Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio (2022) coming soon

REVIEW COLLECTION: The Films of Wes Anderson

WRITER'S NOTE #1: The following is a collection of reviews posted on my Instagram page @film_freeq. They’ve been organized by their initial theatrical release dates.

WRITER'S NOTE #2: I had seen Anderson's 2012 film, Moonrise Kingdom, only once before, but am choosing not to revisit it, due to its deeply problematic storyline involving two 12-year-olds who run away together and indulge in adult-like sexuality. As somebody who's worked with kids for many years and believes in raising them right, this film (no matter how good Edward Norton and Bruce Willis are otherwise) sends the wrong message in a world where pedophilia and human trafficking are still, sadly, very present. Just as I described the problematic sexual content in Guillermo del Toro's 2017 film The Shape of Water, how is Anderson's film any different? 

Bottle Rocket (1996) 

The debut feature film of director Wes Anderson and then-unknown siblings Luke and Owen Wilson is one of the decade's most clever, funniest, unpredictable, and underappreciated genre entries. A quirky comedy about a pair of wannabe small-time crooks who aren't very good at what they do, the film's slogan perhaps best sums up their misguided quest: "All they ever wanted was to be wanted." Many of Anderson's trademarks can be seen here: symmetrical framing and tracking, attention-to-detail props and editing, descriptive exposition, very talkative and offbeat characters, separate and comedic foreground and background action, and a collection of rock'n'roll music tracks. Occasional language issues, an implied sex scene, and obviously numerous lawbreaking, are the major culprits in this absurdist and original heist caper that puts a unique spin on the theme that crime doesn't pay. 

Rushmore (1998) 

Anderson's second feature film marked two firsts. As the relentless and rebellious prep school student Max Fischer (who spends most of his time running numerous extra-curricular activities), actor Jason Schwartzman made his screen debut. Rushmore also marked the first in an ongoing collaboration between Anderson and regular Bill Murray. Here, the SNL alum gives one of his career-defining performances as a war-vet-turned-steel-tycoon who competes with Fischer for the affections of a first grade school teacher (Olivia Williams). 

However, one shouldn't get passed the fact that Murray's Herman Blume is a married man wooing another woman; ditto the film's occasional harsh profanities and brief-but-unnecessary pornographic images, as well as references to affairs, hand jobs, and two principal characters being potential creeps. (To its credit, the film does show how unfulfilled and misleading such pursuits, let alone mindsets, are.) This is a sharp and anarchic comedy about two immature oddballs with complicated perspectives on love, life, and ambition. 

The Royal Tenanbaums (2001) 

Wes Anderson's knack for panoramic production design, art direction, and large ensemble casts really started with this dramedy--trademarks that have been staples for his career since. Gene Hackman (in one of his final screen roles) plays the patriarch of a dysfunctional family, who tries to reconnect with his estranged wife and children before he dies. 

It's fitting that The Royal Tenenbaums begins with a book, as the film plays out like a cinematic novel (complete with chapter headings and intertitles, and guided by Alec Baldwin's rich narration). And while the film may look cheery and bright, Anderson and company waste no time slapping genre and story conventions in the face. To the film's credit, the aforementioned dysfunctions represent more grounded and harsh realities under the picturesque exterior (one of the film's themes is hidden family secrets). It's just that some of them are quite maddening. 

For one, there are references to characters having affairs (including a brief-but-graphic lesbian tryst), not to mention a highly questionable romance between one family member and his adopted sister. Then there's one disturbing moment where one character attempts suicide. Those elements (along with bitter angst and deception) make it hard to embrace the story's themes of keeping relationships in tact and wanting to make things right--even late in life--despite numerous flaws and issues. And believe me, this family has issues. At least they acknowledge that. 

The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou (2004) 

Bill Murray headlines this picture about a celebrated oceanographer who assembles a crew for a deep sea journey to find and kill the shark that murdered his friend. Although The Life Aquatic received mixed reviews and poor box-office when it was first released, it has gained a cult following over the years.

This eccentric homage to Jacque Cousteau is distinctly Wes Anderson (who co-write the script with Noah Baumbach). Who else but a white-bearded Murray in an orange hat could've pulled off such a role? Like the director's previous work, it's intricately-detailed (with stop-motion segments directed by Henry Selick and music-booming sea helmets making up the film's best segment). It even makes clever use of David Bowie music, while Steve's ship takes its name from artist-activist Harry Belafonte. But it's also a crass and surprisingly dark odyssey. It may be Anderson's most acquired work to date. 

TRIVIAL FACT: This may have been the first feature where the director began wearing his trademark suit jackets and long hair that he's now famous for.

The Darjeeling Limited (2007) 

Three brothers reunite and go on a spiritual trip throughout India in this Wes Anderson dramedy, headlined by Jason Schwartzman (who co-wrote the script with Anderson and Roman Coppola), Adrien Brody, and Owen Wilson (whose bandaged sibling was a notable return to the screen for the actor after a reported suicide attempt earlier that year). With action that takes place on a moving train for the first-half of its 90-minute runtime, The Darjeeling Limited largely consists of secular perspectives on love, life, sex, and religion. (The director's 13-minute companion short, Hotel Chevalier, starring Schwartzman and a pixie-cut Natalie Portman, is far more problematic in comparison.) But it does feature some of Anderson's most emotionally-affecting and technically-dynamic work up to that point. 

The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014) 

Considered by many to be Wes Anderson's magnum opus, this intricate and witty period comedy (written by Anderson and Hugo Guinness) centers around a man who recounts his days as a lobby boy (Tony Revolori, in an impressive debut) at a luxurious and picturesque hotel, run by an eccentric concierge (Ralph Fiennes, in a radically comedic turn), in 1930s Europe. The Grand Budapest Hotel skillfully plays with different aspect ratios to represent different time periods throughout the story (the film is best viewed in the 1.85:1 format). 

Make no mistake, this is a wholly original, entertaining, and star-studded farce, with relevant themes of war, prejudice, murder, and escapism thrown in. It's a shame, however, that the experience is ruined by problematic sexual content (the eponymous Gustav H. sleeps around with much older women, while one particular painting depicts lesbian erotica) and several harsh, sometimes offensive, profanities. In other words, sharp objects underneath colorful pastry.

TRIVIAL FACT: Alongside The Artist (2011) and A Ghost Story (2017), this is one of a small number of films in the last decade to revive the centuries-old 1.33:1 Academy ratio. 

The French Dispatch of the Liberty, Kansas Evening Sun (2021) 

Anderson's anthology piece about a French-based magazine, and the various stories they run, is, by far, his most star-studded project--with almost enough big names to rival Marvel. (Bill Murray as the editor-in-chief, Owen Wilson and Jeffrey Wright as two of his reporters, and Adrien Brody as a story subject, are a few of the many standouts.) That being said, The French Dispatch feels like a "been there done that," in terms of Anderson retreading the same ground a la Grand Budapest and The Life Aquatic: playing with different aspect ratios, elaborate interior set pieces, and meticulous detail. 

The film also has quite a few prolonged scenes of full frontal nude modeling (French actress Lea Seydoux plays a prison guard), an apparent affair between a younger man and an older woman, and some depressing suicidal references. On the other hand, there are a few technical aspects that set the film apart from its predecessors, including B&W cinematography for its "story" sequences, freeze frame panning (that's a first for Anderson), intercut split-screen effects, and creative subtitles. The French Dispatch (co-written by Anderson, Roman Coppola, Hugo Guinness, and Jason Schwartzman) has wit and style to spare, but, like its diverse stories, feels inconsistent and much more publicized than it needs to be. 

***

So, which of Anderson's films can I actually recommend? . . . 

Fantastic Mr. Fox (2009)*

Based on Roald Dahl's classic children's book, Fantastic Mr. Fox follows the titular animal who moves his family from a fox hole to a tree on a hill. Facing a midlife crisis, Mr. Fox eventually returns to his former days of chicken-stealing when he learns of the nearby (and wealthy) estates of three wicked farmers. The latter three soon launch a vendetta against the clever and mischievous critter, who, in turn, is forced to save not only his family but his entire community. 

Anderson surprised everyone when he adapted (along with Noah Baumbach) and directed Dahl's book for the screen in 2009. In fact, his unique style is perfect for the medium of stop-motion animation that makes up the film. Fantastic Mr. Fox brings together the trademarks and contemporary edge that Anderson has become known for (i.e., symmetrical framing, offbeat and/or dysfunctional family dynamics, intricate design) while being accessible to a wider, general audience. It also has a great voice cast that includes George Clooney (channeling Cary Grant, as Mr. Fox), Meryl Streep (as the firm other half), Bill Murray (as a dry lawyer badger), Willem Dafoe (as a conniving rat), and Jason Schwartzman (as Fox's angst-driven son Ash). Even though it's the kind of film that appeals more to adults than children (its soundtrack features tracks by Burl Ives, the Beach Boys, and even the Rolling Stones), it works, I believe, for both demographics. (It worked for my niece when she was 3 or 4 years old.) 

Very few pictures (live-action or animated) are able to pull off the amazing feat of being both old-fashioned and contemporary, charming and edgy, menacing and endearing. Dahl's literary motif of protagonists in a cruel world is also very present, and may be more intense than some viewers are expecting. (Then there's also that amusing element of "cussing".) To its credit, the film depicts the animal kingdom in a realistic fashion (fitting that the filmmakers used real fur when designing the characters), while the story is subversive in terms of Mr. Fox being both the hero and the villain. He drives the action and ultimately has to be the one to save the day, even when his methods and objectives are sometimes questionable and misguided; something to talk about. In short, Fantastic Mr. Fox is terrific. 

TRIVIAL FACT: TIME Magazine's late film critic Richard Corliss ranked this as one of the Top 3 Best Films of 2009, along with Disney's hand-drawn The Princess and the Frog and Pixar's computer-animated Up. 

Isles of Dogs (2018) 

Anderson returned to the stop-motion medium, once again, for one of his most ambitious, creative, and controversial films. An homage to Rankin-Bass and Akira Kurosawa, Isle of Dogs takes place in a futuristic Japan, where an outbreak of dog flu and snout fever forces the canine population to be relocated to a trash-compacting island. A young boy pilot (and nephew of a cat-loving mayor) then goes on a mission to find his dog, with help from a gang of former house-pets. Anderson, once again, assembles a stellar cast, headed by Bryan Cranston's intimidating stray known as Chief (and displaying amazing layers of depth beneath a gruff exterior). The animation, quirks, and distinct personalities of the titular animals are amazing to look at. And the film itself proves to be a unique bilingual experience (well, not entirely). 

With that in mind, Isle of Dogs has been accused of cultural appropriation in its portrayal of Japanese culture, while other critics have pointed to exchange student Tracy Walker (voiced by Greta Gerwig) as a more recent example of a "white savior" (although that's really the least of this film's worries). As far as its target audience, this isn't really a movie for children, despite its irresistible charm and engrossing characters. Unlike Fantastic Mr. Fox, Dogs features a few violent images, brief references to cannibalism and suicide, and deals with more mature themes, including one character's fear of bringing children into this world (something that A Quiet Place also did very well that same year). For everyone else, this is a unique contribution to the medium, and one of only two Wes Anderson films I can actually recommend--but with caution. 

WRITER'S NOTE: *extended version of my review posted on my Instagram @film_freeq page on November 14, 2022 

REVIEW COLLECTION: Laika Studios

WRITER'S NOTE: The following is a collection of reviews posted on my Instagram page @film_freeq in the fall of 2022. They’ve been organized by their initial theatrical release dates.

Coraline (2009) 

Many classic animated films (including those from Disney) have a long history of nightmare-fueling scenes that have traumatized kids and audiences for generations, despite redemptive themes in many of them. This 2009 stop-motion adaptation of Neil Gaiman's bestselling YA horror novel (the first solo feature film from Laika Studios, and written and directed by Henry Selick) is one of the more recent cases in point. 

Coraline is visually dazzling, imaginative, and well-crafted and -written. The story follows an unhappy girl (voiced by Dakota Fanning) who moves with her workaholic and dismissive parents to Oregon, and soon discovers a secret door that leads to an alternate, more idealized, world. Only too little and too late does she realize that this "dream" life comes at a terrible cost, becoming a cautionary tale that puts a new twist on the theme, "be careful what you wish for." 

It's also one of the creepiest films in recent years, especially when we learn (and see) who/what the "Other Mother" really is. There's also a scene of gratuitous near-nudity that'll have many viewers gasping as much as any of the film's numerous jump scares. I even agree with one critic/reviewer that the titular protagonist, while engaging, isn't that heroic. Rather, it's more about her surviving and escaping this button-eyed, nightmare world, even though she does learn to appreciate her real parents a bit more. Perhaps there are some life lessons here after all, if only a few. 

ParaNorman (2012) 

The second stop-motion feature from Laika is one of their signature achievements, and one of their surprisingly deepest. Its titular character is something of a distant relative of Haley Joel Osmont from The Sixth Sense, as preteenage social outcast Norman Babcock can see and communicate with ghosts. Then, a horde of undead zombies (and a century's-old curse) threaten his small town, and . . . well, we know where this is going. Or do we? 

Combining supernatural horror and coming-of-age comedy/drama, ParaNorman can be thought of as an effective and original cross between the genre-bending films of John Carpenter and the 80s-centered teen flicks of John Hughes, with themes of death, grief, neglect, and realizing there's more to people than we give them credit for; although those themes aren't always presented in the most positive ways. Again, it's a deeper story in more ways that one. 

The Boxtrolls (2014) 

In 2014, Laika successfully avoid being pigeonholed for specializing in contemporary animated horror films with The Boxtrolls. This Victorian-era adventure about a young boy named Eggs, and his relationships with a community of clever, cardboard-wearing critters (as well as the daughter of a wealthy aristocrat), as they go up against a sinister villain to prove the mischievous and creative creatures aren't what everyone has been led to believe, is a thorough visual delight, filled with steampunk whimsy. The vernacular and personalities of the titular characters alone is a testament to voice-acting veterans Dee Bradley Baker and Steve Blum. (The scene of lead troll Fish revealing a sad backstory is a triumph of emotional storytelling in stop-motion.) 

But there's something askew when it comes to the film's central antagonist (the vile exterminator, Archibald Snatcher, voiced with gusto by Ben Kingsley), who hides a deadly-allergic reaction to cheese, as well as a crossdressing secret. (This latter element had been funny with past screen screen characters like Bugs Bunny and Mrs. Doubtfire. Here, it's just weird and creepy.) There's also, perhaps, a not-so-subtle message about gender identity, sexuality, and same-sex parenting, resulting in a case where animated features--or films marketed to kids and/or families--decide to throw in political or ethical statements to be culturally relevant (I'm looking at you too, live-action Disney remakes). Like the story's town of Cheesebridge, there's curd that is fresh while others are an acquired taste. 

Kubo and the Two Strings (2016) 

Laika CEO and President Travis Knight made his directorial debut with this imaginative action-adventure in the style of David Lean and Akira Kurosawa. In fact, the celebrated stop-motion studio broke a lot of new ground in telling an emotionally-involving and captivating story about a young Japanese boy on a quest with a fierce monkey and quirky beetle warrior. 

The titular Kubo vaguely resembles Rankin-Bass's Little Drummer Boy, while the film's tone is rich in mythology, epic in scale, powerful (sometimes melancholy) in drama, and deep in spirituality (mostly Eastern, that is). Other themes include the power of storytelling (and music), grief over (and remembering) loved ones, and the role of parental figures. This is one of the most amazing animated films I've ever seen, and arguably Laika's masterpiece. 

TRIVIAL FACT: In 2017, Kubo became the second stop-motion animated feature since The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993) to be nominated for its visual effects at the Academy Awards. 

Missing Link (2019) 

Laika's fifth feature film is an epic adventure about a daring-but-egotistical explorer (voiced by Hugh Jackman) who discovers a mysterious sasquatch (voiced by Zack Galifianakis). The unlikely duo embark on a quest to return time mythical creature to his own kind, with help from a reluctant old flame (Zoe Saldana) and skeptical socialites hot on their trail. 

While Missing Link is undoubtedly ambitious in scale and has some laughs, it seems a little too low key for its own good, and not as exciting as it could have been. In addition, it's awkward that the titular character prefers to be called by a woman's name. Still, the film does have worthwhile themes of loneliness vs. community, proving one's worth for the wrong reasons, and learning to put others before our own misguided self-interests. 

REVIEW COLLECTION: Strange and Unusual or, The Early Films of Tim Burton, Second Edition

WRITER'S NOTE: The following piece was originally published on October 31, 2016. Individual reviews have been updated and posted on my Instagram page @film_freeq in the fall of 2022. They’ve been organized by their initial theatrical release dates.

Often known for his love of the macabre and the strange, Tim Burton has, for many years, played a role in several different and genres and mediums (some of them all at once): animation, comedy, supernatural, horror, comic book, modern-day fantasy, and biopic. His early work from the mid-1980s to the mid-1990s specifically set the template for his career. Here's a look back at those films.

Pee-Wee's Big Adventure (1985) 

Burton began his career as a Disney animator in the early-1980, with his short films Vincent and Frankenweenie. Although not the first movie most people think of from him, his feature-length debut, Pee-Wee's Big Adventure, stars the ever-popular man-child creation of Paul Reubens, who travels across country on a quest to find his stolen bicycle. Echoing the sensibilities and physical humor of Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton and Jerry Lewis, this film also displayed what would become Burton's visual style: quirky, expressionistic, and absurd, all with the essence of a live-action cartoon. And although it's essentially a comedy, Pee-Wee is kind of a hard film to categorize.

Pee-Wee experiences the dark and interesting sides of the world as he meets an offbeat cast of characters, from ghostly truck drivers to bikers and even Alamo tourists, all leading up to a memorable chase on the Warner Brothers lot (not seen on screen since Blazing Saddles in 1974). And as memorable as he is (the film has become a cult classic in the pop culture zeitgeist ever since), Pee-Wee Herman is also one of the strangest characters ever brought to the screen, what with his bizarre mannerisms, voice, and inventive household of toys and contraptions. (Remember his breakfast machine?) He even considers himself a "loner," despite his friendship with Dottie (who constantly begs him for a date to the drive-in) and sweet moments with diner waitress Simone (who dreams of going to France). It's no wonder the film's tagline on the poster read, "The story of a rebel and his bike" (possibly a silly play on James Dean or Marlon Brando, the latter of whom reportedly believed that Pee-Wee was actually real).

TRIVIAL FACT: Marked the first of many collaborations between Burton and composer Danny Elfman, who's next score for the creative auteur was even more iconic. 

Beetlejuice (1988) 

If Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure set a standard for Tim Burton's brand of quirkiness, then Beetlejuice set a standard for his sense of the macabre. In the same category as Ghostbusters (made four years prior), this supernatural horror-comedy puts a twist on the haunted house theme, as a newly-deceased couple (Alec Baldwin and Genna Davis) are "haunted" by the new owners of their home (Jeffrey Jones and Catherine O'Hara), but don't really know what to do about it. As one character says, "live people ignore the strange and unusual." They soon call on a "freelance bio-exorcist" for help, only to find a ghoul with a wild, crazy, and perverted personality.

Michael Keaton is a hoot as the titular "ghost with the most," and Bo Welch's production design gives the film an animated zaniness; ditto Danny Elfman's iconic score and the soundtrack's use of Harry Belafonte music. However, Beetlejuice laughs its way through misguided spirituality, convoluted perspectives on the afterlife, and references to suicide (very depressing). This trademark of the macabre would later be seen in Burton's horror-inspired films, Sleepy Hollow (1999), Sweeney Todd (2007), and Dark Shadows (2012).

Batman (1989) 

For the first time since the release of Richard Donner's Superman in 1978, Burton's Batman became the quintessential film that set a new benchmark for what a comic book movie could be ("dark" and "definitive," as executive producer Michael E. Uslan described). It was also a revolutionary achievement on so many levels, from its expressionistic world of Gotham City (courtesy Oscar-winning production design by Anton Furst) to the unconventional casting of Michael Keaton as the Caped Crusader, screen legend Jack Nicholson as the Joker, and the now-famous--and wordless--marketing emblem with the black bat symbol caged in gold.

While not perfect, the film is poetically symbolic in terms of characters with duel personalities, as well as themes of terror and danger, heroism and villainy, and the provocative debate over which character creates which. Burton played a key role in this seminal redefining, and Batman holds up to this day, despite its old-fashioned moviemaking techniques and Prince music.

Edward Scissorhands (1990) 

Between two Batman films, Burton found time to bring to the screen a more personal pet project, one that goes back to a drawing he made as a teenager. A contemporary version of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein set in suburban America (based off of the director's hometown of Burbank, CA), Edward Scissorhands is also a modern-day fairy tale. It illustrates Burton's recurring theme of lonely social outcasts--in this case, an artificial and incomplete man (Johnny Depp) with razors for hands, who is taken in by a kindhearted Avon lady (Dianne Weist) and falls in love with her teenage daughter (Winona Ryder).

Like the titular character, the film is imperfect. Unfortunately, it contains some unnecessary sexual content (one scene has a sultry neighbor trying to seduce Edward). It's also a bit violent, depressing, and ultimately bittersweet. But there are some beautiful moments, such as the memorable scene of Ryder angelically dancing in the snow (set to Danny Elfman's amazing score).

Burton would go on to direct other fantasy features (some if them period pieces) like Big Fish (2003), Alice in Wonderland (2010), and Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children (2016). But he may not have made those films had it not been for Edward Scissorhands (ditto screenwriter/frequent collaborator Caroline Thompson), which still contains an odd sweetness and heartache unlike anything the visionary director had tackled before.

 

Batman Returns (1992) *

Burton stepped into the director's chair once again for a second Batman feature. Fittingly titled Batman Returns (but only just), this is a darker and more grotesque tale of characters with animal-like instincts, split personalities, and misguided ambitions in an equally dark and violent world. Easily the most neo-noir and nightmarish of the original films--definitely not one for children or families--and an example of creative freedom going too far; not to mention, a script getting convoluted. (This really is more of "a Tim Burton film" than a Batman picture.) Still, there are intriguing themes and character studies of the enigmatic Batman/Bruce Wayne (Michael Keaton, once again), the nasty Penguin (Danny DeVito), and the razor-sharp Catwoman/Selina Kyle (Michelle Pfeiffer); not to mention slick and imaginative direction and production design. If only they could have given Keaton more screen time.

The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993) **

The Pumpkin King of Halloween town, Jack Skellington, tires of the same annual routine and longs for something different. When he discovers the magical land of Christmastown, he goes on a quest to kidnap Santa Claus and take over the holiday himself. That's the basic premise of Tim Burton's holiday-bending brainchild, which, to this day, remains a benchmark in the medium of stop-motion animation. The debate over whether this iconic fantasy is technically a Halloween film or a Christmas one is ongoing. On one hand, composer Danny Elfman (who also provides Jack's singing voice) confirmed in 2019 that it's the former, while director Henry Selick (who made his feature film debut here) confirmed in 2022 that it's both. 

I respectfully agree with Selick, which is why November is the most ideal time of the year to watch it--for those who regularly do, that is. Unlike other "Christmas"-centered films with otherwise dark subject matter (we're looking at you, Gremlins and Batman Returns), the arcs of Jack, rag doll Sally, and a cast of quirky, offbeat characters are compelling if misguided. (Keep in mind, it's the secular version of Christmas that's represented here.) The art direction seamlessly combines German expressionism, Dr. Seuss, and contemporary suburbia, considering the film's thoroughly-imaginative, creative, and often scary world. (Burton would make other stop-motion features and/or musicals, including the Victorian-era Corpse Bride [2005], the animated film version of his live-action short Frankenweenie [2012], and a live-action version of Roald Dahl's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory [2005].)

TRIVIAL FACT: Nightmare was originally released under the Disney Studios' Touchstone Pictures label, with executives believing it would be too scary for kids. In subsequent years, it's been rebranded as a "Disney" film, but probably not one you would want to subject younger kids to quite yet, what with a few creepy musical numbers about kidnapping Santa and taking over Christmas. 

Ed Wood (1994)

Burton found his niche in the biopic genre with this fact-based story of Edward D. Wood, Jr., considered by many to be the worst film director of all-time. Played flawlessly by Johnny Depp (in his second collaboration with Burton), Ed Wood is about a passionate though naive and eccentric filmmaker (he would reportedly do scenes in no more than one take, and was even a cross-dresser), who went on to direct such hated pictures as Glen or Glenda and Plan 9 From Outer Space.

A love letter to B-movie cinema rather than a send-up of it, Ed Wood is the kind of film that pleases die-hard cinephiles. It also features an Oscar-winning performance by Martin Landau as the legendary, aging, and troubling Bela Lugosi (thanks to Rick Baker's award-winning makeup). This notion of B-movie-making also played into Burton's next feature, the star-studded but mean-spirited sci-fi/special-effects parody Mars Attacks! (1996). He wouldn't return to the biopic genre for another twenty years, when Ed Wood screenwriters Scott Alexander and Larry Karaszewski penned Big Eyes (2014), based on the true story of painter Margaret Keane.

Billy Crudup and Albert Finney in Big Fish

Burton's subsequent works have been hit-or-miss--some critically-successful, some financially-successful, sometimes both. Some recommended; others, not so much. But one thing is for certain: much like Steven Spielberg, Alfred Hitchcock, Quentin Tarantino, and Christopher Nolan, nobody makes films quite like Tim Burton, no matter how strange and unusual.

WRITER'S NOTE: *originally posted on "Film FreeQ" blog March 27, 2016 **originally posted on Instagram @film_freeq page November 5, 2022

REVIEW COLLECTION: The Library of Studio Ghibli, Part 4 (2010-2014)

WRITER'S NOTE: The following is a collection of reviews posted on my Instagram page @film_freeq. They’ve been organized by their initial theatrical release dates, and have been slightly edited.

The Secret World of Arrietty (2010) 

Based on Mary Norton's beloved children's book The Borrowers, and adapted and planned by Hayao Miyazaki, Arrietty tells the story of a family of tiny people who live under the floors of an old country home. To get right to the point, this is one of the most beautiful films I've ever seen--and I don't say that about a lot of films. The detail alone is worth a viewing, including the way the feisty and courageous heroine runs or clips her hair up in a pin, or as in a scene where Arrietty and her father walk through a dollhouse. You can really feel this world. 

There are worthwhile themes about the temporary comforts of home and the importance of discovering the world with bravery and understanding (themes that author J.R.R. Tolkien used in The Hobbit), even the fact that some of the greatest lessons can come from the smallest of actions, including kindness towards those that have so little or are in need of life-affirming morals. What a wonderful world indeed. 

TRIVIAL FACT: A British dub was released in 2011, featuring the voices of Saoirse Ronan, Tom Holland, Mark Strong, and Olivia Colman. 

From Up On Poppy Hill (2011) 

An engaging coming-of-age period piece, set in post-WWII Yokohama in the early-1960s, From Up On Poppy Hill follows a group of prep school teenagers who renovate an old philosophy building while the country is preparing to host the summer Olympics. Philosophical and political debates are present on school grounds while a romance blossoms between two students (Umi and Shun), until secrets from their pasts are revealed. 

Director Goro Miyazaki made an improvement here over his 2006 feature, Tales from Earthsea, directing Hayao Miyazaki and Keiko Niwa's screenplay based on the graphic novel by Chizuru Takahashi and Tetsuro Sayama. Poppy Hill recalls one of Ghibli's previous coming-of-age efforts, Ocean Waves, in terms of its more grounded story, with hardly any fantastical elements. Satoshi Takebe's score blends French New Wave with American jazz, while the country flags symbolize memories of Umi's late father. 

Despite a few scenes where characters appear stiff (a montage of still-photographs, on the other hand, is quite effective), this is a well-made and lighthearted effort from Ghibli about the transitions, clashes, and lessons from the past for present and future generations. 

The Kingdom of Dreams and Madness (2013) 

An intriguing but mellow documentary on the history and legacy of Studio Ghibli, including insights into the work ethics of the company's founders--directors Hayao Miyazaki and Isao Takahata, and producer Toshio Suzuki. 

Filmed in 2012 during the final stages of production on Miyazaki's The Wind Rises and Takahata's The Tale of the Princess Kaguya, director Mami Sunada's footage reveals the organic process in creating and developing these films (as well as those that came before). Its creators even question the meaning of their work in current times, as well as "friendly competitions" over the years. 

On the other hand, besides spending more time with Miyazaki-san than Takahata-san, this piece seems to present a pessimistic worldview that "the days of creative freedom are ending," culminating in the former's publicized "retirement" in 2013. 

TRIVIAL FACT: If you want to see a more in-depth documentary, check out Kaku Arakawa's extraordinary 4-part series from 2019, titled 10 Years With Hayao Miyazaki, available on NHK until 2026. 

The Wind Rises (2013) 

Loosely based on the true story of aerial designer Jiro Horikoshi, who was responsible for conceptualizing and realizing fighter planes leading to the Second World War, Hayao Miyazaki's subtly-challenging but incredible film has less to do with politics and more to do with the pursuit and fascination of one's childhood dreams and the outcomes of inspiration and technology. It's also just as much a romance in more ways than one. 

Stylistically, The Wind Rises takes a unique approach in its aural design (human voices are used as sound effects), echoing the story's dreamlike quality. Miyazaki's films have always had a great balance of fantasy and realism, so this unconventional visualization on a particular period in history is perfect for the medium of animation. 

With themes ranging from war to loss and illness, this (along with Cagliostro, Porco Rosso, and Mononoke) is one of the studio's and director’s most mature films, intended for older audiences. It also marks Ghibli's 2nd project set around WWII (after 1988's Grave of the Fireflies). The experience is bittersweet and captivating. 

TRIVIAL FACT #1: The Wind Rises was initially-but-briefly marketed as Miyazaki's last film. That is, until an announcement in early 2017 that he began work on a new project--the anticipated How Do You Live. (Lest we forget, he had considered "retirement" several times before.) 

TRIVIAL FACT #2: Miyazaki has admitted in interviews that this was the first film of his that made him cry. 

The Tale of the Princess Kaguya (2013) 

There's an old Japanese folklore known as "The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter." In it, the titular character and his wife discover a tiny girl from a magical bamboo shoot, believing it's a sign from the heavens. Like that bamboo shoot, the child grows rapidly, and is eventually sent to a palace to learn and live the ways of a princess, much to the girl's chagrin. 

Legendary animé director (and Ghibli co-founder) Isao Takahata made his first film in 14 years--and it would turn out to be his last, prior to his death five years later--with this exquisite, colorful, and beautifully-made adaptation (co-written by Riko Sakaguchi), renamed The Tale of the Princess Kaguya. 

Using the same animation techniques he did for My Neighbors the Yamadas (one sequence is even animated with chalk, resembling H.A. Rey illustrations, while another scene involving cherry blossoms is a joy), Kaguya has themes of identity, adolescence, love, free will, royalty, and country life. (There are a few non-gratuitous images of infant nudity, as well as a scene of breastfeeding.) The titular heroine's character and enthusiasm is genuine, infectious, and relatable, even as she struggles with the pressures of being "happy" or with signs of returning to where she truly came from. 

Thanks to Joe Hisaishi's beautiful score and the extravagant artistry throughout, the film is both an epic and intimate journey. It also represents the cap of a long and incredible career for one of our most dynamic and underappreciated filmmakers. 

When Marnie Was There (2014)

Based on the novel of the same name by Joan G. Robinson, When Marnie Was There is an evocative story about a shy, introverted 12-year-old girl named Anna, who visits her aunt and uncle at a seaside resort for the summer, due to an health condition. She soon discovers an age-old mansion and meets a mysterious girl named Marnie, who lives there and may or may not have an equally-mysterious link to Anna's past. 

Director Hiromasa Yonebayashi (who also made the splendid Secret World of Arrietty) crafted a bittersweet and challenging coming-of-age fantasy-drama about memory, friendships, and self-acceptance. The scenery (especially the lakes, whether at night or during the day) is breathtaking. The central repoirte and friendship between Anna and Marnie is kindred and full of understanding. And the overall tone of the film (including the epilogue) recalls cinema of the 1960s/1970s, capping off--at least, for the time being--an exceptional filmography from one of our great animation studios.