RETROSPECT: "The Secret of NIMH" and Processing Scary "Kids" Movies of Our Youth

WRITER'S NOTE: The attached link/video near the end contains scary and violent images and is not appropriate for young children. 

This is usually the time of year when many people watch scary movies. I myself have written a couple of posts on the horror genre (in 2017 and 2019), for better or worse. This year, I decided to center a piece on an era of films that my generation and I grew up with in the 1980s and 1990s, including Disney classics of the early- to late-20th Century. And while there's plenty of nostalgia to go around, it's incredible to think how much these films got passed the MPAA (Motion Picture Association of America, now simply the MPA) as far as questionable content, particularly dark and/or scary elements that traumatized our upbringing. I don't know what's more amazing: how many of these movies did just that, or the fact that we survived most of (if not all of) them.

I'm talking specifically about films that seemed kid-friendly enough when we were young, but were, truth be told, not really meant to be handled at such a young age. In other words, just because the MPAA stamped them with a "general audience" or "parental guidance" label didn't mean it was for entirely kid-friendly or, at worse, not really at all. (One of my posts on the history of Disney animation earlier this year emphasizes "age-appropriateness" at best.)

For me, the most traumatic movie moments growing up consisted of a henchman bat bursting out of nowhere--twice--in The Great Mouse Detective, Christopher Lloyd's shocking revelation as the psychopathic Judge Doom in Who Framed Roger Rabbit, and even an otherwise lovable finger-glowing alien who made a wide-eyed expression before making bikes fly in E.T. (Honestly, these images still give me the heebie-jeebies sometimes.) For others, there are the Wicked Witch and her flying monkeys in The Wizard of Oz, the psychedelic boat ride in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, and Large Marge in Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure. 

Yes, these movies really stayed with us, for better or worse. On the other hand, I think the question we should be asking is this: Did they leave us with anything worthwhile in spite of that? Furthermore, how did they (whether intentional or not) prepare us for the world we would be facing in subsequent years?

I'd like to spend some time mentioning one such film, one that I remember from my childhood but never actually saw until I was older (which was, perhaps, a good thing). It's a film that I've gained a great respect and affection for, one that effectively holds up, and is a good example of whether it's necessary or not to subject such "darkness" to children, whatever age they may be. 

Based on Robert C. O'Brien's 1971 children's book, "Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH," The Secret of NIMH follows a courageous mouse named Mrs. Brisby, who seeks help from a gang of intelligent lab rats to move her family home on a farm before the plowing season, especially for her bed-ridden son, Timothy, who is sick with pneumonia. Brisby encounters various dangers, including a farm cat and a Great Owl, as well as guidance from unexpected allies. 

Mrs. Brisby encounters the mysterious but wise Nicodemus 
in The Secret of NIMH

This film is considered one of the darkest animated features marketed to children, alongside 1978's more adult-oriented and violent Watership Down. Mrs. Brisby's visit to the eye-glowing Great Owl, for one, still ranks high as one of several movie scenes that have scared many kids for years. Don Bluth (a former Disney animator who made his directorial debut here) wasn't afraid to shy away from such content in his films. One reason he made NIMH was because Disney, at the time, wouldn't greenlight such a dark story. Ironic, considering the Mouse House produced the controversial The Black Cauldron in 1985, three years after NIMH's release. Bluth's other films from the same decade, including 1985's An American Tail, 1988's The Land Before Time, and 1989's All Dogs Go To Heaven, contain scenes of equally bleak imagery and intense situations, many involving children. (I, for one, found his 1991 feature Rock’a’Doodle, to be a personally unpleasant experience.) 

Make no mistake, for younger children and for older audiences, NIMH is a dark fantasy film. But unlike many other films of the 80s and 90s, the experience does have thought-provoking subtext and thematic weight, more on par with The Lord of the Rings, among other examples. From a filmmaking standpoint, it harkens back to the age of golden animation in the 30s and 40s, while appealing to a modern audience but not condescending them. Rotten Tomatoes' consensus states, "The Secret of NIMH is a dark, well-told tale that respects its young audience enough to not tone down its subject matter." Indeed, the film's themes of facing the dangers of the world are life-affirming, and can even subtly invoke awareness of such families in similar situations (though not as fantastical). The same goes for a parent's love for their children. 

"Without darkness, you can't appreciate the light," Bluth once stated, "If it weren't for December, you wouldn't appreciate May." Likewise, Dorothy Gale's journey through Oz wouldn't have been as maturing, nor would those of the Fellowship to destroy the One Ring. Plus, each child with a golden ticket to Willy Wonka's factory wouldn't have been their respective archetypes for nothing. (To be fair, Wonka does mention that--SPOILER ALERT--all of the kids survive the tour by the end.) 

As far as age-appropriateness goes, it simply should come down to parents and what they decide. George Lucas was interviewed by WIRED magazine several years ago, and he had this to say about being a parent: "If you've raised children, you know you have to explain things to them, and if you don't, they end up learning the hard way."

On the contrary, I'm also reminded of a scene in 2006's Little Miss Sunshine, where Greg Kinner and Toni Collette argue over whether or not their seven-year-old daughter should listen to a certain adult conversation, to which Collette quips, "Well, she's going to find out anyway!" In spite of the fact that this family is dysfunctional, she does have something of a point. 

Now, I'm not suggesting that every movie marketed to families should be seen by that demographic, nor should parents carelessly use such films as passive babysitters. (Let's be legit, some of our parents--and even we--have been or are guilty of that.) On the other hand, I guess the lesson and reminder here is that parents need to be aware that their kids are going to experience adversities and challenges in the world, sooner or later. 

More importantly, parents should be ready and willing to talk to their kids and help them process. That's why I'm so grateful for resources like Focus on the Family's PluggedIn, and for my mission statement behind the creation of this film blog to begin with. And with Halloween this week (not to mention the pandemic everybody is going, fighting, and struggling through), this is as good a time as any. 

REVIEW: "Robin Williams: Come Inside My Mind"

It's been over six years since my generation and I mourned the death of Robin Williams. And honestly, it's hard to write about anything that hasn't already been said about this comedy legend who took his own life in August of 2014. In many ways, he was and still is an incredible influence, with his mastery of improvisation and his deeply sensitive vulnerability. And though he is greatly missed, he continues to make us laugh and endear us with the many comedic and cinematic contributions he made, whether as a spaceman from Ork, a radio DJ in Vietnam, an inspiring poetry professor, a British nanny, or a shape-shifting Genie. "Inside the Actors Studio" host James Lipton once described Williams as "like trying to catch lightning in a butterfly net."

I recently came across an insightful 2018 documentary on the HBO Max streaming service: director Marina Zenovich's Robin Williams: Come Inside My Mind. Though equally outrageous, profane, and heartbreaking (and this doc does contain adult language and sexual references, and a brief scene of male nudity), it also offers an in-depth, raw, and humble look at the complex life and career of the iconic funnyman. Zenovich chronicles Williams' rising fame as well as his struggles with drugs, alcohol, his marriages, using humor to cope with feelings of isolation, and mental health (including his final days where he was diagnosed with early-onset Parkinson's). I'm reminded of something comedian Bob Saget said a few years back: "Success in show business doesn't always create the best version of people." 

Featuring clips from various talk shows, sitcoms (including various improvisational outtakes), films (even as he transitioned into darker, more serious roles, he was still a hoot off camera), and stand-up routines, this story is told mostly from archival recordings of interviews from the man himself, plus present-day appearances from his family, close friends, and fellow comedians like Billy Crystal, Whoopi Goldberg, and Steve Martin. The result is hysterical, crass, and genuine. There will never be another like the one, the only, Robin Williams. 

RETROSPECT: "A Goofy Movie" Is A Fun Underappreciate (and Surprisingly Timely) Gem 25 Years Later

One of the joys of having Disney+ as a streaming service option during the coronavirus pandemic (other than the mostly-unlimited library of classic animated features in the studio's canon, which you can read about my ten-part series of posts on the subject starting with Part I here), but also the opportunities to watch several equally-regarded or underappreciated gems, from TRON to Honey, I Shrunk the Kids, and even acclaimed series' like Gargoyles and So Weird.

But the one that I've been revisiting on more than one occasion--and that has aged surprisingly well--is a little gem from 1995 called A Goofy Movie. As a spinoff of the hit Saturday morning, early-90s TV show Goof Troop (which depicted the iconic slapstick maestro Goofy as a suburban single dad), the feature-length story centers on Goofy taking his teenage son Max (who has a deep crush on a fellow classmate, and who wants to be as far from his "old-fashioned" father's shadow as possible) on a road trip after mistaking a stunt by Max at a school assembly as a serious troublemaking incident.

What follows begins as an embarrassing experience for Max as Goofy attempts to keep his relationship with his son in tact (and as Max slowly remembers and acknowledges where he comes from), as they face various stops and/or obstacles, from a possum theme park ("Who's your favorite possum?" declares the scene-stealing Lester, voiced by the film's director, Kevin Lima), an encounter with Bigfoot, an cross-country map route, a pop concert, and memories of "Hi Dad Soup," to name a few.

Speaking of father-son bonding, this film illustrates those themes in unexpected ways, showing sides of Goofy that have reportedly never been seen before, while retaining the same wacky antics that have made him a beloved character since the 1930s. Much of that is a testament to the terrific voice work from actor Bill Farmer, who's voiced Goofy since the late-80s, including the recent Disney short, "How to Hook Up Your Home Theater." Ditto his ability and skill to sustain a feature-length story, which many found hard to believe at first. Some may find this approach divisive, but (like Space Jam did with the Looney Tunes in the same decade) A Goofy Movie stands as a benchmark for introducing a new generation to some classic Disney characters, while bridging a generational gap with modern teenage adolescence.

While a few 90s-style pop songs do pervade the film's catchy, clever, and original soundtrack (the fictional artist Powerline was reportedly an amalgamation of artists Bobby Brown, Michael Jackson, and Prince), they don't feel contrived or dated, even at 25 years since the movie's initial release. (Just look at the lyrics for the central anthem, "I2I," if you don't believe me.) The songs actually serve the story instead of just being passive gimmicks for a contemporary audience. Furthermore, Max's high school setting and subsequent road trip elements recall John Hughes movies from the 80s, including Sixteen Candles (remember Anthony Michael Hall as Farmer Ted?) and Planes, Trains & Automobiles (you could say Max is Steve Martin's Neal Page to Goofy as John Candy's Del Griffith). Plus, said elements here (despite a few female characters showing off their midriffs) are arguably more relatable than several other 90s "teen movies" put together (no offense, Cher Horowitz).

The early-90s was a revolutionary time for the Disney studio, with hit films like Beauty and the Beast (1991), The Lion King (1994) and Pocahantas (also released in 1995) showcasing top-notch character animation and artistry. A Goofy Movie looks tame in comparison. Even so, late film critics Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert found the film's art direction and animation to be impressive, and the movie in general to be entertaining. The screenwriters even threw in some clever homages to Disney's history (i.e., blink-and-you'll-miss-'em cameos from Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck, the Disney signature on Goofy's car keys).

Again, with its surprisingly deep emotional resonance, seamless blend of various genres and archetypes, and timely themes for estranged parents and children, families vacationing at home due to COVID-19, or students on summer vacation ("How about science slumber parties?!?"), this entertaining and fun movie may be more relevant and timely than ever. Garsh, who'd have thought?

WRITER'S NOTE: Check out this 20th anniversary panel from 2015, with loads of behind-the-scenes stories on the making of the film.

RETROSPECT: "Justice" for Zack Snyder and the DC Universe

Dating back to the fall of 2017, two films based on comic book superheroes have had a long-delayed and complicated history in coming to fruition. One was based on a spinoff of Marvel's X-Men franchise--a horror-focused piece called The New Mutants. The other was based on a DC comics team.

Back in March of this year, director Zack Snyder held an online "watch party" for his "ultimate edition" of the 2016 film Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, as well as one in May for his 2013 Superman origin story Man of Steel, giving fans an insight into the filmmaking and creative process of both adaptations of iconic DC characters, and answering some of the biggest questions behind some of the key issues or themes in both heavily-divisive flicks.

At the end of the latter, Snyder answered, agreeably, the biggest question diehard devotees had been asking (and petitioning for) for the last two-and-a-half years: When will the famed "Snyder Cut" (er, the nickname for the director's cut) of Justice League be released? Said fans (as well as the media) were surprised when Snyder announced that that long-anticipated version of the film (thought by many to be a mere pipe-dream) would finally see the light of day in 2021, on the newly-released HBO Max streaming service.

It's a Bird, It's a Plane, It's a . . . Superhuman Debate
It's ironic how certain filmmakers are criticized and celebrated simultaneously, contradicting critical acclaim and fanboy devotion, not to mention poor reviews (we're looking at you, Rotten Tomatoes) as opposed to commercial response. Snyder is the kind of filmmaker who, in many ways, triggers both reactions. In fact, when he made Batman v Superman, the former music video director stated he "made the movie as much as [he] could on [the] aesthetic [of a comic book] . . . so it is what it is."

To be fair, Snyder isn't not so much interested in bubble-gum, popcorn thrills often associated with such movies (Marvel, anybody?) as he is with deep, mythological stories and character arcs that take inspiration from the likes of writer Joseph Campbell and artist Frank Miller, to name a few.

Zack Snyder

What makes Snyder's films in this canon (and his own career) transcendent, iconoclastic, and auteur are how they challenge the norms of what comic books movies and superheroes can do and can be. They may be bleak, grim and violent. But they also have strong thematic subtexts, along with distinctive visual aesthetics (traits evident in Snyder's filmography since his 2007 adaptation of Miller's graphic novel 300 and his 2009 take on Alan Moore & Dave Gibbons' Watchmen), such as slow-motion action and striking color palettes. While not merely "entertaining," there is still a sense of thrill, spectacle, and mind-blowing action. And there is humanity as there is darkness.

Man of Steel, at its core, represents the hope of what said humanity--and the world and future, for that matter--could be, despite the failures of an old civilization (i.e., the planet Krypton) and the adversities and controversies of the present world (i.e., earth and its politics, the villianous General Zod's army trying to maintain the old Krypton). This was primarily reflected in Batman v Superman (BvS), which followed what Kal-El/Clark Kent (Henry Cavill) inadvertently brought to earth when battling Zod and his army, even though Clark was believed to be "the bridge between both worlds," and how Bruce Wayne (a surprising, hulking Ben Affleck) perceives him as a global threat, in spite of his own frailties and choices as an older, more bruising Batman. The effects of his actions on the world even open doors to the idea and existence of other "metahumans" (beings from other worlds, or with extraordinary abilities or powers, like Wonder Woman, the Flash, Aquaman, and Cyborg, exclusively in that order).

When producer Christopher Nolan (who redefined Batman when directing the Dark Knight trilogy) co-conceived the idea of reviving Superman with co-writer David Goyer, they decided to treat it as a "first contact" story. If superheroes or superhumans did exist in the real world (or had never existed before), this is what could actually, physically and consequentially, happen. Consider the post-9/11 imagery of destruction (i.e., Superman and Zod's climactic fight in Man of Steel, or Bruce Wayne running into the rubble of Metroplis in the BvS opening sequence), along with themes and parallels (a criticism many of these films, whether DC or Marvel or any other, of the 21st Century shared in turn, regarding the belief or misconception that they had to be dark and serious in order to be successful).

Make no mistake, Man of Steel and especially BvS are polarizing. The music by Hans Zimmer and Junkie XL give each film a haunting, almost ghost-like, atmosphere. (Vangelis's score for Blade Runner is a good comparison.) Plus, the latter's interpretation of Lex Luthor (reportedly mirroring modern-day entrepreneurs) has a warped, twisted view on religion, spirituality, and God. Some elements of the BvS extended version could've been left on the cutting room floor (i.e., bloody violence, sexual content). In spite of these content problems, I do consider this version of the film to be superior as opposed to the theatrical cut, specifically in how it fills in story plot holes and expand certain character arcs (fans have said the same thing about Snyder's director's cuts of Watchmen and Sucker Punch), particularly characters (i.e., Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Diana Prince) emerging from a dark and broken world and towards something better, and with time to turn things around and/or make things right. (You can read my piece on the subject here.)

Men Are Still Good
As film history has shown many times before, retrospective takes on these movies seem to be shifting, even if in the slightest. (One YouTube channel, titled "Twin Perfect," did thorough, in-depth analyses on BvS's interpretations of Batman, Superman, and Lex Luthor. WARNING: These videos contain significant plot spoilers!) The irony that many filmgoers demanded Snyder be cut from directing future DC films after BvS, and later admitting they wanted to see his original cut of Justice League after the version shown in theaters wasn't well-received, is a testament to how certain films hold up in time, even if they're still being debated and discussed. I was one of those filmgoers who eventually reevaluated these films and only then began to understand what Snyder and company were trying to do thematically, artistically, and visually. I also agreed with numerous fans and online campaigners on what is now, reportedly, the most famous hashtag for an unreleased film.

Snyder himself had, hinted on numerous occasions, the existence of the famed cut on his Twitter and Vero accounts on social media. He had initially wrapped the film in the fall of 2016, but left during post-production in early 2017 due to a family tragedy (his daughter, Autumn, had committed suicide), and was replaced by Marvel veteran Joss Whedon, who contributed to additional script material and directed new footage.

"Shall we?"
(Left to right) Jason Mamoa, Gal Gadot, and Ray Fisher

With the direction the DC Extended Universe has taken since Wonder Woman and Aquaman were released to wide popular acclaim in 2017 and 2018, respectfully, it may or may not be surprising to see which routes the decades-long powerhouse will go on the big and small screens after next year. After all, Snyder was successful in helping to bring several lesser-known or seldom-seen characters in the comics and reinterpreting them as strong and dynamic forces of nature in their own right. Whether his cut of Justice League takes the form of a four-hour feature film or a six-part miniseries, fans may be in for a darker take (at least based on a "first look" reel involving Wonder Woman and the sinister villain Darkseid, released two weeks ago), as well as expanded backstories of Arthur Curry (Jason Mamoa's Aquaman), Barry Allen (Ezra Miller's The Flash, who could potentially have an encounter with former Batman Michael Keaton in the not-too-distant future), and especially Victor Stone (Ray Fisher's Cyborg), the latter of whom Snyder described as "the heart of the story". Not to mention the fact that many fans and cast and crew members will be able to make peace with the fact that audiences will finally be able to see Snyder's intended vision, much the same way they got to see Ridley Scott's for 1982's Blade Runner and Richard Donner's for 1981's Superman II.

Watching both Man of Steel and BvS back-to-back (which I did recently, while in quarantine) makes the experience leading up to next year's "event" all the more understanding, emotionally-affecting, and thought-provoking. The same goes for BvS's scene-stealing moments for Batman and Wonder Woman, as the Dark Knight (more intimidating and imposing than ever) takes on several guards in an explosive warehouse brawl and the ancient Amazon warrior makes a spectacular entrance (guitar-stringed theme music and all). Plus (no disrespect to Marvel), fans won't have to watch several movies to understand the cinematic universe leading up to next year's team up. As Cyborg would say, "Boo-yah."

REVIEW: "The Vast of Night" or, Retro Escapism in Unexpected Times

It's fair to say that movies theaters have had an extremely difficult year so far, as the worldwide coronavirus pandemic has led to the temporary closure of just about every chain. While many film studios anticipate these chains may reopen next month (as well as planned theatrical releases of Russell Crowe's action-thriller Unhinged, Christopher Nolan's time-bending epic Tenet, and Disney's live-action Mulan remake), streaming services have been the main platforms for watching or binging TV shows and movies at home. Now with the just-released HBO Max, viewers have several options along with Amazon to Netflix, Hulu, Disney+, and video-on-demand (VOD).

In a rare bold move, Amazon Studios decided that, prior to its debut on their Prime streaming service, they would provide sneak previews of their newest original film, The Vast of Night, at select drive-in venues across the nation. Giving audiences an opportunity to go to the movies outdoors while basking in fresh air--and keeping social distancing regulations in tact--drive-ins could be making something of a nostalgic comeback, if only for the moment.

It seems fitting that, given current circumstances, this low-budget sci-fi mystery (an impressive debut from director Andrew Patterson, filmed in 2016 and debuting at Slamdance in 2019) centers around a duo of teenage radio employees who intercept--and eventually broadcast--a mysterious airwave frequency. Imagine an unseen episode of The Twilight Zone, with a little bit of Rod Serling's iconic narration thrown in. Stranger Things, meet your distant relative.

The Vast of Night recently played at the Midway Drive-In in Kent, OH

Set in the fictional town of Cayuga, New Mexico, in the 1950s during Cold War paranoia, ads and trailers suggest a conventional flying-saucer picture. The early buzz and praise I heard surrounding this film had little to do with those conventions and more to do with the way the story was told.

The first twenty minutes are practically the two main characters (the fast-talking, charismatic radio DJ, Everett, and his switchboard operator friend, Fay) having conversations about tape recorders, while interviewing local residents at an evening basketball game. Jake Horowitz and Sierra McCormick (terrific as Everett and Fay) naturally play off of and overlap each other's dialogue, much like Dustin Hoffman and Robert Redford in All the President's Men. One only needs to pay close attention to the subtle direction and writing in this sequence, in terms of how much character and town information is condensed and discussed.

One other particularly long take (roughly nine minutes) occurs at the aforementioned radio station, while a tracking shot across farmland and into the school gymnasium is equally impressive. Add to that brilliant sound design (i.e., nighttime cricket sounds), several peppered quick-cuts, edge-of-your-seat supporting roles (an unseen soldier named Billy and a local residence named Mabel), interlude images of a dated Fifties television set (some with the screen covered in blue palettes), a score that's not merely jumpy but on the verge of being so, and mesmerizing cinematography that make the impeccable setting more intimate and believable (not to mention several "how-did-they-do-that" shots).

Judging from the ads and trailers, one would expect government or secret service agents to come in, or for characters to explicitly use the term "aliens" or the like. Without spoiling, let me just say that the filmmakers smartly and unexpectedly subvert these conventional genre pitfalls, ditto predictable dialogue. This is creative, first-rate filmmaking. It's also a noteworthy reminder that what is unseen is scarier and more enigmatic (a la old radio mysteries) than what is seen. Perhaps all the more reason to see this terrific feature at whichever drive-in it's currently playing.

History of the Modern Blockbuster: The Last Quarter Century, Part III -- Back to Life

1993's Jurassic Park

What do they got in there: King Kong? 

~Ian Malcolm

In order to create the groundbreaking effects for Star Wars, George Lucas founded his own visual effects company, titled Industrial Light & Magic (ILM), in 1975. Aside from the original trilogy, ILM has since developed pioneering breakthroughs in the motion picture industry, bringing to life characters, worlds, and elements that weren't cinematically possible years before. From a stained-glass knight in 1987's Young Sherlock Holmes, to a water creature in 1989's The Abyss, and the liquid-metal T-1000 in 1991's Terminator 2: Judgment Day. But visual effects reached a new landmark by the summer of 1993, by way of genetically bringing dinosaurs back to life.

Everybody Walk the Dinosaur 
With a tagline that reads, "An adventure 65 million years in the making," director Steven Spielberg adapted Michael Crichton's bestselling novel, Jurassic Park, about a work-in-progress theme park on a Costa Rican island, run by an eccentric billionaire. Two paleontologists, a quick-witted mathematician, and the billionaire's own grandchildren, are brought in for "outside opinions" and initially marvel at the overwhelming sites, yet have their own questions and concerns.

Perhaps paleontologist Alan Grant says it best, "Man and dinosaurs. Two species separated by 65 million years of evolution have just been suddenly thrown back into the mix. How can we possibly have the slightest idea of what to expect?" And when safety precautions go haywire, things turn into a terrifying and dangerous fight for survival.

Jurassic Park deals with man's relationship with technology, with nature, and possibly with humanity. Specifically, the theme of abusing control and power (and even "playing God") is strongly implied, as genetic scientists use dinosaur DNA found in mosquitos stuck in amber millions of years ago. There are even a few subtle references to rival companies trying to gain control over said research and technology.

To reiterate, the film changed the way visual effects were incorporated into movies. Arguably, these onscreen herbivores and carnivores remain the most believable, while the iconic sequences of the eponymous T-rex on the paddock (and a smart choice not to include music) and raptors in the kitchen (with equally irreplaceable sound effects) remain the most heart-pounding moments, putting the audience right there with the characters, in the park. Plus, John Williams' incredible score hits all the right notes.

Some believed Jurassic Park lacked character development and investment compared with the attention-to-detail of the fully-realized dinosaurs. Even so, the characters are arguably realized and relatable here, from paleontologists Alan Grant (Sam Neill) and Ellie Satler (Laura Dern), to entrepreneur John Hammond (the late Richard Attenborough), scientist Ian Malcolm (the unforgettable Jeff Goldblum), and even a pre-Pulp Fiction Samuel L. Jackson as a chain-smoking employee. The film's screenplay (written by Crichton and David Koepp) has a noteworthy structure (a small cast, and a primary setting in the titular park, one of the most memorable places in cinema), and is a great example of how to effectively build tension. No matter how many times I see this and the aforementioned blockbusters, they can still catch me by surprise because they share that same quality.

Back to Reality, and a Familiar Universe
Spielberg began successfully transitioning to more adult dramas in the mid-1980s, beginning with '85's The Color Purple and continuing with 1987's less-successful Empire of the Sun and 1989's Always. The early 90s, however, proved this transition was not a fluke for Spielberg, as he hit two other landmarks in his career: 1993's harrowing Holocaust drama Schindler's List and 1998's equally harrowing war epic Saving Private Ryan, both of which won him the Oscar for best directing.

Meanwhile, many acclaimed films from old and new directors were making an impact in the mainstream and independent outlets, from Frank Darabont (1994's The Shawshank Redemption) to Mel Gibson (1995's Braveheart), Martin Scorsese (1990's Goodfellas), M. Night Shaymalan (1999's The Sixth Sense), and Quentin Tarantino (1994's Pulp Fiction).

Spielberg also made time as a producer on several animated television shows (being a lifelong admirer of century-long medium), as well as films from his short-lived Amblimation company. This was, after all, another golden age of animation, as the Walt Disney Studios was experiencing a "Renaissance" that began with 1989's The Little Mermaid and continued with 1991's Best Picture-nominated Beauty and the Beast, 1992's rapid-fire comedy Aladdin, and 1994's record-breaking The Lion King. This was followed in 1995 by the world's first fully-computer-animated feature from an upstart company called Pixar, a buddy picture called Toy Story. A revolution in how characters and story drove the technology (and not vice versa), the late critic Roger Ebert wrote, "Watching the film, I felt I was in at the dawn of a new era of movie animation, which draws on the best of cartoons and reality, creating a world somewhere in between, where space not only bends but snaps, crackles and pops." This landmark was followed by the critically- and commercially-successful a bug's life (1995) and Toy Story 2 (1999).

Industrial Light & Magic Headquarters in San Francisco, CA

Lucas, who had been working behind the scenes as a producer for his companies Lucasfilm and Industrial Light & Magic, was inspired by the revolutionary visual effects rapidly growing in the industry in the early 90s, from the dinosaurs of Jurassic Park to Tom Hanks being seamlessly
incorporated into historical archival footage in Forrest Gump, alien spaceships blowing up skyscrapers in Independence Day, intense weather spiraling farm cows in Twister, and slow-motion "bullet time" in The Matrix.

Lucas saw an opportunity to go back to some of his initial ideas for Star Wars. In 1997, he reissued the original Star Wars trilogy as a "special edition," with enhanced visual effects and additional scenes, which many fans criticized for robbing them of their memories of seeing the films in the Seventies and Eighties). But that didn't compare with the first chapter of a prequel trilogy that soon followed.

With 1999's Star Wars: Episode I--The Phantom Menace, Lucas and ILM took the saga to new, imaginative visual heights, while telling the backstory of some of the main characters from the original trilogy. The finished film unfortunately left many fans disappointed (frankly, many still hate the character of Jar Jar Binks, ditto a kid version of Anakin Skywalker, an uber-political subplot, a few cardboard stereotypes, and the controversial concept of "midichlorians"), including the fact that it seemed more kid-friendly in comparison.

There are a few things that most critics and audiences can agree on: Ewan McGregor does a great young Obi-Wan Kenobi, Darth Maul is a menacing and intimidating villain, the pod racing sequence is an entertaining knockout, and John Williams' score (particularly "Duel of the Fates") leaves you breathless. Recent retrospect reviews from 2019 (commemorating the film's 20th anniversary) look back on The Phantom Menace with less criticism than its initial release (especially towards actor Ahmed Best). When considering the film's anticipation and polarizing reception, that seemed initially the opposite case with another feature two years prior, about a doomed ship and a melodramatic love story at the center.

"Take Her to Sea, Mr. Murdock"
James Cameron began the making of Titanic with the intention of encountering the real-life R.M.S. ship at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean himself. The making of the film became one of the most expensive and difficult productions in history, perhaps even more than Jaws and Star Wars put together. With massive sets, cold gallons of water, hundreds of extras, millions of dollars over budget, and a delayed release date, many industry insiders predicted Cameron's tale of "Romeo & Juliet on a ship" as a financial failure.

When it was released in December of 1997, the result (like it or not) was epic storytelling and filmmaking that was equal parts spectacular, romantic, thrilling, and harrowing. Sure, the story was predictable. (It practically lays out the overview of the ship's tragic 1912 sinking from the get-go.) But it's not the what that makes Cameron's screenplay unique, but how and why it happened. Opening in the present day, an elderly survivor (the late Gloria Stuart) tells her story to a group of ocean divers (led by the late Bill Paxton) in search of lost artifacts and "untold stories" (particular a blue heart necklace).

Titanic far exceeds just mere romanticism and teenage heartthrobs (considering 90s stars and leads Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet). The story involves social and class differences, as well as man-made technology that didn't hold up as perceived (similar to the tower of Babel in Genesis). Yes, there is a romantic subplot: Rose (Winslet) is a society girl who feels like she's seen where her life is going, and sees no way out of it (including her forced engagement to her haughty fiance). That is, until she meets Jack (DiCaprio), a penniless artist who makes life count at best. Rose's character (as corny as it may seem) has the most compelling development here.

To be fair, Jack does save her from ending her life, helps her see how freeing it can be, and inspires her to be strong and enduring no matter what adversities come their way. Part of that "liberation" here, however, involves modeling naked (a rather lengthy scene for a PG-13 film) and having a rendezvous in the back of an automobile. The film is agreeably sentimental at times, but weren't most early 20th century films? (Gone With the Wind, anybody?)

According to Cameron, during an interview for the film's 3D re-release in 2012, one of the reasons this film was such a success and has endured is that it bridged a generational gap. The film can be seen as a testament to those who survived and to the memory of those who lost their lives (an objective perspective that is effectively represented in various supporting--and compelling--characters in the film).

Sure, there are many iconic moments like DiCaprio's "king of the world" ad-lib (a la Roy Scheider's "bigger boat" line in Jaws) and the last sunset at the bow of the ship (one of the most magical movie moments, implying a sense of freedom). The cast is first-rate, including Billy Zane (as the egotistical Cal) and Kathy Bates (as the "unsinkable" Molly Brown). The late James Horner's score is ethereal and moving (and reportedly remains the most successful film score in history). And the film seamlessly blends real and artificial footage of the actual ship, haunting shots that appear as "ghosts" from the past (a theme Cameron would explore in his subsequent documentary Ghosts of the Abyss).

DiCaprio and Winslet have gone on to further acclaim and celebrated careers, even reuniting eleven years later for the devastating 2008 drama Revolutionary Road, and winning their own Oscar statues down the line (DiCaprio for 2015's The Revenant, and Winslet for 2008's The Reader). In addition, they each wouldn't star in another blockbuster hit until the 2010's, with Inception and the Divergent film series, respectfully.

Cameron, meanwhile, took a sabbatical from filmmaking for a few years, to continually explore the depths of the ocean. His next feature film would again revolutionize visual effects and moviemaking, and would not have been possible had it not been for a series of unprecedented films (which began development in the latter part of the Nineties) based on the works of J.R.R. Tolkien.

History of the Modern Blockbuster: The Last Quarter Century, Part II -- A Trip to the Moon

The 1980s was a period of radical, turbulent change. It was an era of teenage stories from John Hughes, machismo action from the likes of Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sylvester Stallone, time-traveling DeLoreons, music videos on MTV, dark fantasy adventures, inspirational sports movies, and a landmark DC superhero. This was, perhaps more than any other decade, a time of youth-oriented and/or thrill-seeking escapism at the movies.

Long before the Marvel Cinematic Universe, George Lucas initially conceived Star Wars as an ambitious and epic story. He eventually decided to focus on "the first act," in the hopes of telling the other "episodes" down the road. Sure enough, the first film (subsequently known as Star Wars: Episode IV--A New Hope) was a massive hit, and paved the way for the aforementioned installments. (It is curious, however, why Lucas began with episodes numbered IV, V, and VI, respectfully.)

Late film critics Gene Siskel & Roger Ebert believed that 1980's The Empire Strikes Back established and cemented Star Wars as a successful franchise. In retrospect, many declare this second entry as the best in the franchise's canon--and agreeably so. With strong character arcs and developments (Han and Leia's relationship dynamic, Luke's jedi training, Yoda's wisdom, Lando Calrissian's history with Han Solo), improved effects (Imperial walkers, anybody?), and a shocking anticlimax involving the backstory of Darth Vader, Empire set a tentpole for sequels (or middle chapters, in the case of trilogies), with more complex themes, intense action, and challenging emotional dilemmas.

Do, or do not. There is no try.

~Yoda

1983's Return of the Jedi concluded the original trilogy in 1983. Despite being declared the weakest entry (with a more kid-friendly, and possible consumer-driven, approach), it was nevertheless a satisfying roller-coaster, as well as a noble end to Luke Skywalker's "hero's journey". Audiences and critics assumed this was the end of the series, aside from a spinoff TV series ("Ewoks") and reissues of all three films in the late Nineties. It was also famously parodied (along with all things sci-fi) by funnyman Mel Brooks in the 1987 cult comedy Spaceballs, which Lucas permitted with the sole condition that no merchandise be developed from the movie.

(l-r) Steven Spielberg, R2-D2, and George Lucas in the 1980s

A Match Made at the Movies
Lucas, meanwhile, collaborated with Steven Spielberg on several blockbuster hits throughout the decade, particularly the Indiana Jones films (an original creation of Lucas, centered on an alternate James Bond-esque archeologist), beginning with 1981's Raiders of the Lost Ark, which further cemented Harrison Ford's career in the process. In fact, both Lucas and Spielberg became known for paying homage to the spirit of 1940s serials for both Star Wars and Indiana Jones, in terms of reviving old-fashioned adventures for contemporary (more sophisticated) audiences.

The same went for Spielberg's collaborations with directors Richard Donner (1985's The Goonies), Robert Zemeckis (1985's Back to the Future, 1988's Who Framed Roger Rabbit), and animator Don Bluth (1986's An American Tale, 1988's The Land Before Time). Lucas and Spielberg even received their fair share of criticisms, compared with the transitions in Hollywood and audience's evolving and ever-changing tastes in entertainment.

That being said, this may have also been the last decade where moviegoing bridged a generational gap between young and old, where themes and ideas were more sincere, compared to many of the (pardon me for being candid) hip-centered trends that pervaded the proceeding era. Not to say there weren't any significant revolutions in the Nineties, as I'll mention in my next post.

In a way, it seems fitting (and remarkable) that the most universally- and financially-successful film that attracted young and old in the 1980s was Steven Spielberg's story of a simple yet unexpected friendship between a young suburban boy and a lonely alien from another world.

To the Moon and Back
E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial follows a family affected and damaged by divorce (a personal theme for Spielberg), until a special visitor changes their lives (especially young Elliot), helping them rediscover a sense of "home" and what it means to feel for others.

Released in 1982, and during a time when family films weren't the box-office norm (least of all, Disney), E.T. bridged a gap in genre-defining cinema between generations of moviegoers, much the same way Star Wars did five years prior. As a science-fiction adventure, a coming-of-age fantasy, and a remembrance of childhood innocence, this is craft, artistry, and pathos rarely found in such films. Some would call it wonder and enchantment of a different sort, from a child's point of view.

As evidenced by unanimous acclaim from special screenings at the Cannes Film Festival and at the White House that year, E.T. transcended its contemporary America setting. For instance, the opening and closing sequences of the film are reminiscent of a silent picture, as John Williams' incredible score plays like a symphony. And that famous bike chase? Boy, they don't make 'em like they used to! (To me, this is the only film of that era to showcase effective and exciting bike sequences, next to 1979's Breaking Away).

It's interesting how this movie is less special-effects-driven and (like Jaws) more emotion- and character-focused. Although, its practical effects, particularly Carlo Rambaldi's irreplaceable designs for the lovable creature (especially when he's wearing a blue plaid shirt), still remarkably hold up. What children and audiences remember, most of all, is how E.T. made them feel, how it touched them. (The tagline, in fact, reads, "The story that touched the world.")

Thanks to Spielberg's direction, the late Melissa Mathison's script, the genuine performances of the child actors (including Henry Thomas and Drew Barrymore), and Williams' aforementioned music, E.T. is a cinematic experience that is mysterious and thrilling as it is emotional. By the early 1990s, audiences would be reminded why Universal Pictures was one of the greatest (if not the greatest) motion picture studio(s) in history. And it would partially be thanks to "an adventure 65 million years in the making."