REVIEW: "The Whale" (2022)

2022 saw a resurgence of many famous stars who've been off the radar for years. Heartthrob Channing Tatum made an impressive directorial debut (with co-writer Reid Carolin) for the military road drama Dog, and made an impeccable duo alongside Sandra Bullock for the adventure comedy The Lost City. Former Goonie Ke Yun Quay fought and held his own alongside Michelle Yeoh in Everything Everywhere All At Once. Even Lindsay Lohan began popping up on Netflix in a trending holiday rom-com. But the biggest comeback story of the year undoubtedly belongs to Brendan Fraser, for his bravura performance in Darren Aronofsky's hard-hitting, psychological drama, The Whale. 

Those of us who grew up in the 1990s and early-2000s have fond memories of this beloved actor. Whether he's playing an unfrozen Neanderthal (1992's Encino Man), a Tarzan parody (1997's George of the Jungle), or a daring explorer battling undead monsters (1999's The Mummy), it's fair to say that Fraser has been a significant part of our childhoods. He even managed to hold his own in more serious roles opposite such esteemed thespians as Ian McKellan (1998's Gods and Monsters) and Michael Caine (2002's The Quiet American). At the moment, Fraser has been receiving the best accolades of his career for his role as a severely overweight, gay English teacher in the big-screen adaptation of Samuel Hunter's stage play of the same name. 

The story follows the titular Charlie, as he struggles to maintain his failing health and reconnect with his estranged teenage daughter with the time he has left. But the film is so much more layered than that simple premise; ditto the story's singular apartment setting. Using a 1.33:1 aspect ratio, The Whale (a reference to Herman Melville's classic novel, Moby Dick) is a thoroughly gripping, heartbreaking, and claustrophobic experience that chronicles Charlie's daily routine (how he walks around, how he showers, how he cooks), as well as his selfish choices and complicated relationships, including his daughter (a riveting, angst-driven Sadie Sink), his best friend and nurse (a compelling Hong Chau), his estranged wife (Samantha Morton, in an intense sequence), and a local missionary (Ty Simpkins). Fraser has described this role as the most compassionate he's ever played, and it's easy to see why. Thanks to impressive makeup effects, a moving score, powerful direction, immersive cinematography and production design, and a phenomenal, central performance, viewers are equally engrossed and distressed by Charlie's arc. 

But be forewarned. While we already knew this would be a heavy psychological drama (no pun intended), the results are far more challenging, emotional, and depressing. The film has been criticized for "fat-shaming"; to be fair, Fraser and the filmmakers partnered with the Obesity Coalition in order to accurately and honestly portray an overweight person. But the film's biggest concerns have less to do with those elements. 

For one thing, an opening sequence finds Charlie masturbating to a gay sex online video. Discussions around Charlie's sexuality, and the subplot that he left his wife and child for somebody else years ago, reoccur later on, and it's a topic that is always met with damaging consequences--emotionally, mentally, physically, and spiritually. 

There are also discussions of faith, religion, and Christianity, with characters who reject it based on their own heartbreaking experiences, and instead indulge in the flesh or their own form of recklessness. (To its credit, the film doesn't portray these characters as conventional negative stereotypes, but as genuine, complicated individuals who have specific reasons for their own worldviews, and strong examples of showing compassion towards such people.) It's fitting that one of the central key verses, which best sums up the film's plot, comes from Romans 8:12-13 in the New Testament. The passage reads, "Therefore, brothers, we have an obligation, but it is not to the flesh, to live according to it. For if you live according to the flesh, you will die; but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live. . . ." And then there's the issue of whether certain people are worthy of salvation, forgiveness, or help in general, focusing on pain more than hope.

In the end, while we feel sorry for Charlie and root for him to make better choices, we need to think twice about the effects that his choices have caused him and others, and what he's forgotten matters most--his own family. It may not be one of Fraser's fondest roles per se, but it surely is one of his most harrowing and unforgettable. 

REVIEW: "Avatar: The Way of Water" (2022)

There are three things that are certain when it comes to filmmaker James Cameron. 1) He knows how to make an effective blockbuster movie. 2) He constantly pushes technology (including 3D) forward, but never lets it get in the way of engrossing storytelling. And 3) he likes to go big. Really big. 

From Aliens (1986) to The Abyss (1989) and Titanic (1997), the visionary director has strived for thrilling cinematic experiences with deeply emotional stories that certainly deliver on those levels. On the other hand, the biggest disadvantage of his 2009 box-office juggernaut that was Avatar (which remains the highest-grossing film in history, unadjusted for inflation) was that it lacked originality. Its central story of a wounded American soldier (Sam Worthington) who experiences a distant planet called Pandora--full of indigenous blue-skinned natives and fantastical creatures--and falls for a fierce warrior (Zoe Saldana) has been seen in film and other media many times before. The result was a conventional story--with a pantheistic worldview--in an otherwise visually-groundbreaking experience that resurrected the former gimmick of 3D viewing and pushed immersive filmmaking in a new direction. 

The long-awaited follow-up, Avatar: The Way of Water, marks Cameron's first official sequel since 1991's Terminator 2: Judgment Day. In fact, Cameron has been spending the last decade building the technology needed for this film and three other planned sequels for the next six years. But the real question is if it's more original than its predecessor. The simple answer is, yes and no. 

A familiar face?

First, the No. One thing that plagues many film franchises is the use of recycled elements from the first installment (i.e., booby traps from Home Alone, over-the-top action from Die Hard, smashing metal from Transformers, and the same villain from Back to the Future and The Matrix). The Way of Water falls short by reusing the antagonistic Colonel Quarich (Stephen Lang), but this time in an artificial alien body. The concept of seeing from a different perspective is intriguing, but it's not enough to overcome the same arc (not to mention a typical revenge story) from the first Avatar. An additional subplot referring to a dying earth, and looking for new homes, is equally contrived. (Interstellar, anybody?)

As for the Yes, where The Way of Water really makes waves is in the subplot involving the children of leads Jake and Nytiri (including the scene-stealing Kiri, played by Sigourney Weaver). The same goes for the new locations and islands discovered on Pandora, specifically the oceans as well as the natives and creatures that occupy them. Cutting-edge motion capture was actually filmed underwater, and the results are spectacular and breathtaking; ditto Simon Franglen's electrifying score, a remarkable extension of the late James Horner's compositions from the first film. Themes of the relationships between parents and children--whether biological, surrogate, adopted, or mixed--are equally thought-provoking.  

Again, this is only the first of four sequels Cameron and company have been developing and producing for over the last decade. It's anyone's guess how the events of this second film will effect the course of the rest of the series. Original or not, we can certainly expect them to be effective, engrossing, and big--and then some. Hang on and look out. 

REVIEW COLLECTION: The Films of Terrence Malick, 2nd Edition

WRITER'S NOTE: The following is a collection of reviews posted on my Instagram accounts @be.kerian (in 2021) and @film_freeq (in fall 2022). They’ve been organized by their initial (theatrical) release dates, and have been slightly edited. This profile covers the career of one of our most radical and poetic filmmakers. (The 1st Edition can be read here.) 

Badlands (1973)

The debut feature film of legendary and enigmatic auteur Terrence Malick, Badlands is an intriguing but provocative take on the Charles Starkweather killing spree of the late 1950s. Four things caught my attention on first viewing: the stunning cinematography (set in Texas, impressionistic and almost folk-like), George Tipton's offbeat score, and the performances of a young Martin Sheen (emulating James Dean) and Sissy Spacek (three years before she immortalized Stephen King's Carrie) as a young couple on the run from authorities across the American landscape. The use of Spacek's engrossing voiceover narration and Billy Weber's stream-of-conscious editing juxtaposed with a shocking true story is strange and haunting, considering the complex thematic undertones of nature, humanity and adolescence involved. 

TRIVIAL FACT: Malick (known to have a very private life) makes an extremely rare appearance, as a yellow hat-wearing architect. 

Days of Heaven (1978)

Compared with Badlands, I found Malick's 1978 sophomoric follow-up to be a more challenging piece to wrap my head around. Sure, it features standout and breakthrough performances from Richard Gere and late playwright Sam Shepard (plus intriguing narration from a young Linda Manz), as well as striking cinematography by Nestor Almendros, Haskell Wexler, and John Bailey (the eponymous house was a real practical set), and a haunting score by the legendary Ennio Morricone (incorporating the "Aquarium" movement from Camille Saint-Saens' "Carnival of the Animals"). On the other hand, its unconventional narrative and impressionistic tone (with a story set against turn-of-the-century labor, a central love triangle, spiritual elements like a plague of locusts, and a tragic American idyll) requires more than one viewing, not to mention deep philosophical conversations (generally the case with Malick). I can only imagine what those conversations in the editing room were like. Days of Heaven is, perhaps, the one film from the 1970s (other than Stanley Kubrick's 1975 period drama Barry Lyndon) to use such distinct naturalism. 

The Thin Red Line (1998)

After being out of the Hollywood scene for two decades, Malick made a surprise return to the director's chair with this stirring and challenging adaptation of James Jones' 1962 novel centered on the WWII battle for Guadalcanal. Boasting an incredible ensemble cast (with standout performances from Jim Caviezel, Sean Penn, Nick Nolte, and Elias Koteas--voice over narration comes from various characters throughout the story as well), this is one of the most unique war films I've ever seen. Considering it was released the same year as Steven Spielberg's Saving Private Ryan, Malick's film is more impressionistic and philosophical by comparison, with themes of life, death, violence and war, nature, and eternity; not to mention stunning, poetic imagery (with support from Hans Zimmer's haunting and ethereal score).

TRIVIAL FACT: Several A-list actors and up-and-coming stars auditioned for the film and even initially had supporting roles (from Martin Sheen to Billy Bob Thorton, Lukas Haas, and Mickey Rourke), but their respective scenes were left on the cutting room floor. Only a few of these scenes can be found on the Criterion bluray and DVD editions. 

The New World (2005)

Malick's singular take on the Virginia Company's voyage to America and their settlement in Jamestown in the early-1600s may be one of the acclaimed director's most overlooked films. Centered primarily on the relationship between Captain John Smith (a superbly-restrained Colin Farrell) and Powatan tribe daughter Pocahontas (a revelatory debut from Q'orianka Kilcher), as well as the latter's subsequent journey to England, the film is thoroughly meditative in its ever-changing period setting, with themes of love, war, nature, spirituality, and colonization. It slows down in its second act (especially in the extended cut), while the apparent and significant age difference in the central romance will be off-putting for more discerning viewers. Those elements notwithstanding, the experience is uncompromising, complete with a stellar supporting cast (Christopher Plummer, Christian Bale, August Schellenberg, Wes Studi), Emmanuel Lubezki's stunning cinematography, and Jack Fisk's genuine production design.

TRIVIAL FACT #1: For the Criterion edition, three versions of this film exist: an extended cut (170 min, with specific chapter titles), the first cut (150 min.), and the theatrical cut (135 min.). If I had to go with one version--and since I've recently been invested in "director's cuts" and artistic integrity vs. studio interference--it would pick the second option.

TRIVIAL FACT #2: This is the first of Malick's films to include opening credits since 1978's Days of Heaven, complete with background illustrations. 

The Tree of Life (2011)

Terrence Malick has made some very unconventional films in his fifty-plus years as a writer-director. But perhaps no project in his filmography is more ambitious or challenging as his 2011 Palme D'Or-winning drama The Tree of Life. Juxtaposing the creation of the universe (a visually stunning sequence, to be sure) and a family in 1950s Texas, the centerpiece of The Tree of Life poetically and provocatively embodies nature and grace, love and hate, innocence and rebellion, physical life and the afterlife. The experience may be experimental--and will easily try the patience of more traditional viewers--but it's also thoroughly meditative, sensory, and personal/subjective. The use of practical, groundbreaking special effects in the aforementioned sequence (with consultation from effects veteran Douglas Trumbell), along with Emmanuel Lubezki's captivating cinematography and Jessica Chastain's breakout performance as the family matriarch, have helped make this one of the most acclaimed (and divisive) films of the 21st Century.

TRIVIAL FACT #1: Like The New World, the Criterion edition of The Tree of Life contains both the theatrical cut and an extended version (featuring fifty minutes of new footage), as well as an intriguing supplemental feature where music critic Alex Ross discusses Malick's unconventional use of classical music in his films.

TRIVIAL FACT #2: If there are at least two images from this film that stand out, they include Chastain gently catching a butterfly and Pitt holding out his baby boy's feet. 

To the Wonder (2012) 

The first in a trilogy of experimental, stream-of-consciousness features, written and directed by Terrence Malick, To the Wonder also marked a turning point in the filmmaker's career. (His films were previously released many years apart.) Released one year after the Palme d'Or-winning The Tree of Life, this unscripted romantic drama is a sensual, meditative, and poetic film about love, marriage, betrayal, heartbreak, and faith or the lack of it. 

At its center is a romance between American actor Ben Affleck and Ukrainian actress Olga Kurylenko (in a spellbinding performance), and briefly with Canadian actress Rachel McAdams. And while there's no plot per se, themes of living in a different part of the world and the pain of being away from home are clear and bold. The same goes for subplots involving land development, housing, and gentrification. The film even benefits from being a multicultural experience, especially without the technical use of subtitles. (Spanish actor Javier Bardem plays a priest.) 

In those respects, there's a lot to admire about To the Wonder, in spite of its abstract nature. The film has beautiful scenery courtesy cinematographer Emmanuel Lubeski (with farming scenes that recall Days of Heaven), as well as profound Biblical references ("All things work together for good"). But the way it alternates between earthly love and divine love is complicated and problematic. There's a lengthy (and titillating) scene of sexuality/nudity, elements of cohabitation, and secret lives of characters that have damaging effects. Halfway through, the film seems to meander more often, while the main characters (Affleck, in particular, becomes uninteresting) are apparently at a crossroads, resulting in a challenging experience that isn't for everybody. 

TRIVIAL FACT: This was the last film to receive a published (and rave) review by critic Roger Ebert, two days after his death in 2013. 

Knight of Cups (2015) 

The second of three pictures filmed simultaneously (and without a shooting script) by Malick and company in the early-2010s, Knight of Cups stars Christian Bale as a Hollywood screenwriter who indulges in worldly pleasures, including relationships with different women. Essentially a sporadic and episodic experience about the wayward son wandering in the wilderness (as well as John Bunyan's The Pilgrim's Progress), there's a lot of spiritual and visual poetry about the relationships between fathers and sons, as well as worldly love vs. familial or eternal love. It also makes intriguing use of Wojciech Kilar's "Exodus" throughout the soundtrack. But since the film also frequently revels in graphic sexual content (a few scenes take place in a strip club, while one of Bale's romances includes a married woman), the experience is also maddening and morally damaging. The theme of gaining the whole world yet forfeiting your soul is an important one. We just don't need to see it so excessively or carelessly. 

Voyage of Time: An IMAX Documentary (2016) 

Released exclusively in IMAX theaters in 2016 (and narrated by Brad Pitt), this 46-minute documentary was a four-decade journey for writer-director Terrence Malick. Assembling a top-notch crew of special effects artists and cinematographers to depict the scientific history of the universe and the planet Earth, the poetic and operatic Voyage of Time feels like an extension of 2011's The Tree of Life. Nevertheless, it's a singular, stunning, and uncompromising vision. 

TRIVIAL FACT: A 90-minute feature-length version (narrated by Cate Blanchett and titled, Voyage of Time: Life's Journey) also exists, but is only available on Region B disc's in Europe. (The IMAX edition can be viewed on the streaming platform MUBI.) I wouldn't be surprised if the Criterion Collection decided to release both versions somewhere down the road (which they should). 

Song to Song (2017) 

Malick's third consecutive and experimental film (released within a five-year span, alongside To the Wonder and Knight of Cups) turns its attention to the music scene in Austin, Texas, as several different couples (including musicians) navigate obsession, seduction, and betrayal. Filmed on location and featuring a stellar group of actors like Ryan Gosling, Rooney Mara, Michael Fassbender, and Natalie Portman, Song to Song focuses on challenging themes of sex, wealth, fame, hypocrisy, and misguided pursuits of love, success, and freedom. In a nutshell, this existential film seems to be about characters who give themselves away--or, free-fall--while going back and forth from one relationship to the next, like an eclectic playlist of contemporary and classical tracks, and manipulating and damaging their identities in the process. As one character describes, "Maybe what stirs your blood is having wild people around you." 

Just as he did with Knight of Cups, Malick incorporates deeply biblical elements, such as mercy and forgiveness, as various characters wrestle with guilt, regret, complicated family relationships, and forgetting or remembering who they are. At the same time, the film has deeply problematic sexual content, with characters living hedonistic, unfiltered lifestyles and even engaging in same-sex erotica--a primary reason I can't endorse this film. Ultimately, Song to Song rises above the surface, but it spends way too much time in the deep end before it really comes up. 

TRIVIAL FACT: Malick made a very rare public appearance, alongside Fassbender and filmmaker Richard Linklater, at a post-screening discussion when the film premiered at the South By Southwest Film Festival in Texas in 2017. 

A Hidden Life (2019) 

After making a trilogy of back-to-back experimental dramas, Terrence Malick returned to a more narrative form with this quiet, remarkable, and unsung true story of Austrian officer Franz Jägerstätter, who refused to fight for the Nazis in World War II, and at the risk of his own life and family. A Hidden Life is a slow-moving-yet-profound story of resilience, integrity, deep faith, and love and devotion, in an ever-changing and oppressive world. Drawing from Jägerstätter's original letters to his wife, Fani, and their three children, this beautifully-shot film--clocking in at 174 minutes--is also longer than it needs to be (I almost walked out of a screening I attended when it was first released in 2019); ditto some distracting camera lenses. Even so, this may be the best film of its kind since Carl Theodor Dreyer's The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928). 

REVIEW: "Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio" (2022)

Everyone should be familiar with the story and character of Pinocchio. Like Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes and Edgar Rice Burroughs' Tarzan, Carlo Collodi's classic tale of the wooden puppet brought to life has been adapted and interpreted many times, with the most famous example being Walt Disney's hand-drawn animated version from 1940. Earlier this fall, a live-action/animated take (courtesy director Robert Zemeckis) was released on the streaming platform Disney+. But while that film was heavily criticized for being shallow and carbon copy, the stop-motion musical version from Guillermo del Toro is a genuine work of art--and a real labor of love. 

A co-production of Netflix and the Jim Henson Company, shot over a period of 1,000-plus days, Pinocchio has been a life-long passion project for the visionary filmmaker. It's easy to see why. Set in 1930s Italy during the reign of Mussolini, del Toro's take (co-directed by Mark Gustafson, and written by del Toro, Patrick McHale, Gris Grimly, and Matthew Robbins) is an emotionally-invested story of fathers and sons, filled with love, loss, and life. Furthermore, it subverts story conventions by emphasizing not only what it means to be human, but also how challenging it is. For one thing, this take on Geppeto has darker layers, as he succumbs to alcoholism and creates the titular wooden boy, not out of hope but rather deep-seated grief, after the tragic loss of his boy. 

With that in mind, although this film is rated PG and boasts painstaking-but-amazing animation and craft that rivals the best live-action pictures (it's worth seeing on the big screen, if you can), not to mention a roster of A-list voice talent (Cate Blanchett voices a circus monkey, while Ewan McGregor steals the show as the clever and wise Sebastian J. Cricket), it's not really for children. Themes of death, eternity, and immortality are much deeper than you may expect. The images of Christ on the Cross (and discussions around them) are powerful, but there's also a suggestion that there's nothing more after life on earth. Too much for younger kids to handle, and something for parents and adults to be aware of. Even so, this timeless and challenging story of innocence to experience does have its heart in the right place. Easily one of del Toro's greatest films, and easily in my top 5 for 2022. And that's no lie.

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.