WRITER'S CUT: Shortcuts, Longer Chapters (or, What the "Hobbit" Films Should and Should Not Have Done), 2nd Edition

WRITER'S CUT: A collection of previously-published posts that have been thoroughly re-examined and re-edited by yours truly. (The following was originally published on November 14th, 2017.) 

When author J.R.R. Tolkien wrote The Hobbit in the 1930s, he had written it as a fantasy adventure for his children. Little did he know it would not only set the stage for other characters and stories in his created world of "Middle-earth" (notably The Lord of the Rings and the posthumously-released The Silmarillion), but also establish a contemporary mythology echoing stories, legends, and character types of yesteryear.

When filmmaker Peter Jackson began adapting The Lord of the Rings in the late-1990s, he and his cast and crew embarked on what would turn out to be a seven-year journey to bring Tolkien's literary trilogy to the big screen. Little did they know it would not only set a benchmark in cinema history (no trilogy had ever been filmed simultaneously, and no "fantasy" flick had ever won the Best Picture Academy Award), but also set the stage for other genre entries in the 21st Century (i.e., Harry Potter and The Chronicles of Narnia).

After Rings, Jackson went on to direct and co-produce other projects, such as his lifelong-dream remake of King Kong (2005), an adaptation of Alice Sebold's novel The Lovely Bones (2009), Neill Blomkamp's sci-fi/apartheid directorial debut District 9 (2009), and Steven Spielberg's motion-capture take on Herge's The Adventures of Tintin (2011). In the mean time, Jackson's visual effects company, Weta Digital, contributed to various other films, including the rebooted Planet of the Apes series (2011-2017), the fast-car sequel Furious 7 (2015), the holiday horrorfest Krampus (2015), and Disney's remake of Pete's Dragon (2016).

1977's animated The Hobbit

Tolkien's prequel novel had been adapted for the screen once before. Specifically, by animation studio Rankin-Bass for television in the late-1970s. Contrary to the 9-hour live-action trilogy, this 77-minute feature captures the childlike wonder, fantasy, and episodic nature of Tolkien's book. (Musical interludes/transitions really keep the story engaging and delightful.) Granted, there are scary moments involving goblins, Gollum, spiders, and the dragon Smaug, as well as an intense (though bloodless) climactic battle. But they're all in the realms of family-friendliness. 

When original director Guillermo del Toro (2006's Pan's Labyrinth) was in pre-production for a live-action adaptation in the late-2000s, two back-to-back installments were planned. The first film would be a majority of the book, while the second film would serve as connected tissue to Jackson's LOTR trilogy. Del Toro's casting choices included Brian Blessed (as dwarf leader Thorin), Doug Jones (as Elven King Thranduil), Ian McShane (as a dwarf), and Ron Perlman (as Beorn).

In 2010, del Toro stepped down due to reported production delays, while Jackson took over directing duties for the long-awaited blockbuster. Many of the same crew from LOTR were already on board, including co-writers/co-producers Fran Walsh and Philippa Boyens, production designer Dan Hannah, cinematographer Andrew Lesnie, conceptual artists Alan Lee and John Howe, composer Howard Shore, and head of Weta Workshop Richard Taylor. (Del Toro remained credited as a project consultant.) Returning cast members included Ian Holm (the elderly Bilbo Baggins), Elijah Wood (Frodo Baggins), Hugo Weaving (Elrond), Cate Blanchett (Galadriel), Christopher Lee (Saraman), Ian McKellan (Gandalf), and Andy Serkis (Gollum, who steals the iconic "Riddles in the Dark" sequence), while newcomers Martin Freeman (a younger Bilbo) and Richard Armitage (Thorin) would join in. Serkis would eventually serve as the project's Second Unit Director.

Peter Jackson behind the scenes of The Hobbit

Jackson, Walsh, Boyens, and Del Toro's contributions to the screenplay partly came from appendices at the end of The Return of the King text. The backstory of the dwarves and their once-glorious kingdom of Erebor were used as a prologue for the first Hobbit film, titled An Unexpected Journey. This introduction not only showcases the dwarves' greed and obsession with gold, but also its effects on the neighboring people of Dale, as well as other races. Jealousy and destruction soon appear in the form of the dragon Smaug, which leads to the downfall of the dwarves' race. Their mission in Tolkien's story and in this film: to take back the fallen kingdom. But to do this impossible task, they will need some help--particularly, a burglar to sneak in.

Which leads us to Bilbo Baggins, a hobbit who finds comfort and safety in his home in the Shire, and is not motivated by adventures of any kind. At least until the great wizard Gandalf comes knocking on his door, followed by thirteen mighty dwarves, and convinces him to take the journey. (It's curious but sort of understandable that only half of these characters, led by Thorin, are given more screen time and development than the rest of the supposedly-caricatured bunch.) At the same time, there's a greater, darker power resurfacing in Middle-earth than just Smaug, beginning with the mysterious Necromancer, as investigated by the eccentric wizard Radagast.

The overall moral in this story is that adventure is not found in the comforts of home, but out there in the world. To be sure, danger is inevitable, but courage and bravery are necessary and beneficial. Therefore, facing the world and seeing what one is really made of, not just where he comes from. "Home is now behind you," Gandalf tells Bilbo, "The world is ahead."

My initial reaction to An Unexpected Journey was that it was entertaining, well-made, and had terrific nostalgia and homages to the original film trilogy. It was also impeccably cast, with Freeman, Armitage and McCoy (Radagast) as standouts, followed in the next film by Luke Evans (Bard) and Benedict Cumberbatch (who perfectly and chillingly voices Smaug). And Lee gave what would turn out to be his final screen role (reprising Saruman) before his death in 2015. (Cinematographer Andrew Lesnie passed away that same year as well.) 

But despite being based on essentially a children's novel, Jackson had no interest in making a film strictly for children. This is one of the many significant liberties that makes the film quite dark and violent. And the other two films in this now-trilogy (2013's The Desolation of Smaug and 2014's The Battle of the Five Armies) verify that point, along with many other controversial choices that have more to do with Jackson's previous film trilogy than with Tolkien's original book. Little did Jackson and company (and moviegoers, for that matter) know that the overall reception for these prequel installments would be lukewarm.

When The Desolation of Smaug came out, I began to loose faith in these films. For one thing, Weta Digital certainly went to great lengths to make knock-out effects sequences. And there certainly are many worthy moments and worthwhile elements, such as the impressive animation of Smaug and the designs of Laketown and Erebor. But they're upstaged by the aforementioned (and prolonged) scenes and VFX shots, not to mention an "unexpected" and sudden climax to the middle chapter. I had hopes that the third movie (originally titled There and Back Again, like the original subtitle of the book, as well as the original title for the second film) would deliver a more satisfying outing. And yet, when film three did arrive (and with a new title), the result was a rather underwhelming experience. (In the book, the climactic battle lasts one chapter whereas, in the film, it's nearly 45 minutes). It also proved that this "prequel trilogy" was probably not a good idea. Jackson admitted in 2014/2015 that the reception to these three films was partially due to him coming so late into pre-production, with only three months to plan. (Compare that to the reported three years Jackson and company spent preparing The Lord of the Rings).

That's not to say the making of The Hobbit was a terrific experience, as the "Production Diaries" filmed between 2011 and 2012 in New Zealand showcased. (The behind-the-scenes videos on the "Extended Edition" bluray/DVD releases are more in-depth.) These videos are, without a doubt, the highlight of these films, as well as an amazing transition into a new decade for Tolkien's stories and epic fantasy worlds.

On the other hand, Jackson has defended his decision to expand the story into a trilogy in order to, by request to the studios (Warner Bros/New Line and MGM), plan out the climactic "battle." I recently viewed all three "extended" versions back-to-back and now believe that Five Armies is, while emotionally-effecting, an overbearing and unnecessary conclusion to Tolkien's classic. (It honestly should've lasted the same length as the final battle in 2003's The Return of the King.) Even Bilbo himself ends up feeling like a supporting character halfway through this series. 

What these films could have used was a little old-fashioned restraint. Here are four things that I would have eliminated or reduced, and which would've resulted in two films instead of three.

1. The villainous orc Azog. The climax that ended up in An Unexpected Journey should've been saved for The Battle of the Five Armies, where Thorin would've have a proper face-off with this vengeful adversary, while him and Bilbo and the other dwarves would've transitioned better from the goblin tunnels to Beorn's house. (To be fair, Bilbo's bravery is commendable and amazing in the resulting sequence, though that would've been evident after the Mirkwood spiders and dungeon escapes anyway.)

(Top to bottom) Gollum and Smaug are motion-capture marvels

2. The aforementioned goblin tunnel chase and the spiders of Mirkwood (which seem more swarmy compared with the nightmarish Shelob in Return of the King) represent "prolonged" fights that go on far longer than they needed to. The barrel rides in Desolation definitely have roller coaster thrills, but the elves (including Legolas, who's not even in the original book) and the orcs intervening was not necessary. The same goes for the eponymous battle, which features Tremors-like "earth eaters," bats, an icy lake, and a Legolas/orc battle that defies gravity. And then there's the dwarves' fight with Smaug in the mountains, action that would've translated better in the destruction of Laketown--which ended up as a prologue in Five Armies. The buildup to the malevolent dragon's presence is effective, but it soon outstays its welcome. Hence, the Laketown transition. 

3. The romance between dwarf Kili and elf Tauriel (a character made for the movies, due to an apparent lack of female characters in Tolkien's novels), as well as a subtle love triangle involving Legolas; ditto the subtle romance between Gandalf and Lady Galadriel. If they had made Tauriel a companion to the dwarves and not so much a love interest, that would've been stronger and less conventional. (Actress Evangeline Lilly did express disappointment that the studio reportedly went with the aforementioned love-triangle, contrary to what she believed she signed on for.) 

4. The emphasis on the subplot about the darkness resurfacing in Middle-Earth, including the re-emergence of Sauron, creates the same mistake that George Lucas's Star Wars prequel series made: it tells you what happens in the original trilogy, and you loose those thrills when viewing these films in chronological order. The shifts that An Unexpected Journey makes midway through (and which Desolation does a lot, while Five Armies is more of an Appendices feature film) distract from what should be the primary story--the dwarves' quest and its impact on Middle-Earth. If this would've been the sole storyline (plus the theme of "dragon sickness" and not so much the Ring's growing power over Bilbo), then the films would've been a whole lot better, and most certainly only two installments.

A great, quiet moment beween Bilbo and Gandalf

As movies themselves, they're entertaining. But compared with the book and the LOTR films, they're longer than they need to be. Unlike the original trilogy, which began with miniature sets and grounded visual effects, the Hobbit films use CGI extensively. The settings of Dol Guldur and the Elven city in Mirkwood are clearly unrealistic, more resembling video games. It even got to the point where actor Ian McKellan wasn't performing alongside the other actors for much of the time, contrary to the "forced perspective" technique they used for The Fellowship of the Ring. The overall production design is spectacular and very Tolkien-esque, from Rivendale to Laketown, the ruins of Dale, and Five Armies' illustrated end credits. But the effect (and some of the humor, rather gratuitous) is far from it. It's overbearing, menacing, and downright savage. (The Extended Edition of Five Armies received an R-rating.) 

At least Tolkien's themes are still intact and strong, including a misguided sense of loss and the cost of greed, war and destruction. And filmgoers can't go wrong with the "Song of the Lonely Mountain," a motif throughout the first film that should've resurfaced in the other installments. This is, after all, the emotional arc of the dwarves and their journey. It's fair to say Jackson has (hopefully) learned from the mistakes of these films. (He's spent the last several years making documentary features on WWI and the Beatles.) As for Tolkien's original works, they will remain timeless and definitive. 

Still, it would've been amazing to see del Toro's cancelled vision come to life. (Read here for more behind-the-scenes details courtesy Screenrant.) 

RETROSPECT: Touchstone and Hollywood (or, Independent Disney Labels in a Pre-Acquisition Age)

Years before the Walt Disney Company became the umbrella to several diverse brands as Lucasfilm, Marvel, and 20th Century Fox, the Mouse House had different labels that targeted older audiences outside of their family-friendly Magic Kingdom community. For this piece, I'd like to talk about two of these banners. 

During the 2020 worldwide pandemic, I re-watched Sister Act for the first time in years. When I was a kid, one of the first celebrities that introduced me to comedy (besides Jim Carrey and Robin Williams) was Whoopi Goldberg. This was also the first movie of hers I remember seeing. Released in 1992, this comedy about a sassy lounge singer on the run from mobsters--by hiding in a convent and shaping the chapel's choir--had its fair share of edgy content. But it was also toe-tapping and had soul-singing swag. (I can't help thinking of my family's Catholic upbringing as well.) This was also one of the most famous movies released under Disney's Touchstone Pictures label. 

First created in the early-1980s under then-studio CEO Ron Miller (just before being replaced by Michael Eisner and Frank Wells in 1984), the goal of this new subsidiary was to produce films for an older demographic. Some of Touchstone's other famous hits included 1984's mermaid romance Splash, 1987's Ernest Goes to Camp and several other installments featuring the late Jim Varney's ever-popular handyman, 1988's live-action/animated Who Framed Roger Rabbit, and the 1989 drama Dead Poets Society, the latter of which received a Best Picture Oscar nomination. 

In 1990, Disney formed another (though similar) label. It was titled Hollywood Pictures. Even though it turned out to be a short-lived venture for more than a decade, it still produced many acclaimed and crowd-pleasing (if not as financially-successful) hits as its contemporaries. Some of them even qualify as early examples of modern independent filmmaking. 

It began with 1990's Arachnophobia, a co-production with Steven Spielberg's Amblin Entertainment, and the directorial debut of producer and Spielberg-regular Frank Marshall. The story is about a killer Venezuelan spider who ends up in a small American town and begins breeding while terrorizing the local residents, including the newly-appointed town doctor (played by Jeff Daniels) and his family at their new farmhouse. 

The thing I remember most about this chilling suspense-comedy was John Goodman's scene-stealing exterminator Delbert McClintock coming out of nowhere, gear at the ready, and saying, "Rock 'n roll." The same for Daniels using a flamethrower in the film's spine-tingling climax. A fitting context in light of the recent pandemic, though the overall movie is far-fetched. 

Subsequent films under the Hollywood label included the 1994 biopic Quiz Show (directed by Robert Redford), the 1996 period musical Evita (starring Madonna), the 1996 music drama Mr. Holland's Opus (starring Richard Dreyfuss), and 1999's record-breaking thriller The Sixth Sense (starring Bruce Willis). Other titles included low-brow comedies starring Pauly Shore (like 1993's Son-In-Law), and action extravaganzas produced by Jerry Bruckheimer (1996's The Rock, starring Sean Connery and Nicolas Cage). An attempted revitalization occurred in the mid-2000s with a few low-budget horror films (i.e., 2007's The Invisible) before the Hollywood brand ended indefinitely. 

It is curious, nonetheless, that this label was created even though Disney could've easily released said films under their Touchstone banner, which itself has been debunked since 2016's The Light Between Oceans (the last release under a six-year partnership with DreamWorks). At least the films themselves are all that's left of these bygone labels. 

REVIEW COLLECTION: Sony Spider-Man Universe

[WRITER'S NOTE: The following was intended for my Instagram page of the same name, but moved to this blog due to its length.] 

With Sony/Marvel's Spider-Man: No Way Home re-released in theaters this weekend (and featuring 20-minutes of extended footage), moviegoers have an opportunity to re-experience one of the defining superhero movies of the last several years. 

I've written before about how the Tom Holland Spider-Man flicks have been doing a great job with the wallcrawler's rogues gallery. But the recent spinoff universe of films centered around other such villains has been mixed at best, and poor to say the least. 

Beginning with a 2018 origin story of how reporter Eddie Brock became the infamous alien symbiote Venom, lead actor Tom Hardy was, at least, more comic book accurate when compared to the rather pale and skinny variation by Topher Grace in 2017's Spider-Man 3. But Venom is a rather ho-hum special effects movie. A few elements rub this writer the wrong way (parasitic, weird, and gross, including an embarrassing restaurant scene), and its worldview is very antisocial. The movie does have some incredible post-credits scenes, however, as well as a final cameo appearance by Stan Lee. 

The 2021 sequel, Let There Be Carnage, is even more ridiculous, not to mention more sick and twisted, with mo-cap expert Andy Serkis (2018's Mowgli: Legend of the Jungle) stepping behind the camera. The plot is basically Hardy's Eddie Brock/Venom (who have a crazy "buddy comedy" relationship this time around) going up against Woody Harrelson's serial killer Cletus Kasady/Carnage. If Sony/Marvel ends up bringing Hardy into the Holland universe, maybe that'll be an improvement. 

This year's Morbius had Jared Leto (who, as of late, has been taking on more bizarre film roles/choices) bringing the lesser-known doctor-turned-vampire to life. The film has been getting savagely panned by critics and audiences, and it's easy to see why. 

While only a few previous Marvel entries have attempted to branch out into horror (The New Mutants, anybody?), Morbius is murky, muddled, and convoluted, with stale design and cheesy VFX. It doesn't help that certain elements and genre tropes have been seen many times before (ahem, Dark Knight). Michael Keaton's cameo as Vulture/Adrien Toomes (as seen in various ads) is frankly what the rest of the movie could've used more of. 

At least Sony & Marvel are only three films in. They should try being less acquired going forward.

REVIEW COLLECTION: The Library of Studio Ghibli, Part 3 (The 2000s)

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

*** 

Spirited Away (2001) 

Hailed by many as the magnum opus of Hayao Miyazaki (and Studio Ghibli, for that matter), Spirited Away may have also single-handedly introduced a majority of Western audiences to the legendary artist/filmmaker's work, and is likely the most remembered and widely seen animé feature in Ghibli's history. 

Miyazaki reportedly made this film for ten-year-old girls (one of them being the daughter of a friend of his), who apparently seemed more interested in modern technology and status than with history or mythology. The film's story (created entirely with storyboards throughout production) follows stubborn ten-year-old Chihiro, as she and her parents stumble upon an abandoned theme park while moving to a new town. When her parents are suddenly turned into pigs, Chihiro is forced to work in an ancient bathhouse, run by the cunning witch Yubaba, and where ancient spirits come for tranquility (including a "Stink Spirit" in a sequence involving a jammed bicycle), in order to get home. 

The various character arcs are compelling, including Chihiro's transition from cowardly to strong-willed and brave, as well as remembering who she is. ("Without your real name," says the heroic Haku, "you'll never find your way home.") The same goes for the mysterious No-Face and Yubaba's giant spoiled baby (great examples of gluttony/greed and eventually peace). Despite elements of animism and violence/cruelty, there are ultimately redemptive, coming-of-age themes in its fantasy setting. 

Thoroughly imaginative, often scary, and wholly original (though it takes a few cues from Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland, L. Frank Baum's The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, and Michael Ende's The Neverending Story), it's no surprise that Spirited Away won the Best Animated Feature Academy Award, or that Sight & Sound (in a 2012 poll) and IMDb (in their "Top 250") rank it as the greatest animated film of the 21st Century, and why it's still considered a modern masterpiece. 

The Cat Returns (2002) 

Like Spirited Away before it, this coming-of-age fantasy (adapted from Aoi Hiiragi's original graphic novel, Baron the Cat Baron, written for the screen by Reiko Yoshida) draws some of its inspiration from Alice in Wonderland. A teenage girl named Haru is whisked away into a fascinating but strange world of talking anthropomorphic felines after saving one that turns out to be a prince. Following a series of misunderstandings and twists, things get weirder when Haru herself turns into a cat. 

The Cat Returns is ultimately a story of memory and courage, with the dashing and charismatic Baron to the rescue. The film's swashbuckling adventure recalls the thrills of Hayao Miyazaki's 1979 caper, The Castle of Cagliostro. The timing in the film's action sequences, especially the labyrinth chase, is a bit long, despite being a race-against-the-clock plot, complete with the animation studio's trademark sense of flight. (Stay through the credits for clever art direction and engrossing music.)

Furthermore, this is the first and only time that Ghibli made a sequel-/prequel-/spinoff-of-sorts to one of their previous films (in this case, their underappreciated 1995 film, Whisper of the Heart), promoting the supporting Baron (one of the studio's best characters) into more of a leading role. Miyazaki considered doing something similar with one of his subsequent features, but not before adapting another popular children's fantasy series. 

Howl’s Moving Castle (2004) 

Hayao Miyazaki's adaptation of Diane Wynne Jones's children's fantasy novel is another highly imaginative experience. The story follows a young shop girl, named Sophie, who is cursed by a jealous witch after the now-90-year-old woman meets the mysterious and charismatic wizard Howl. 

Made during a period when the world was at war, Miyazaki used that same backdrop for his cast of colorful characters (including the pantomime scarecrow Turnip, the sly-but-flawed Witch of the Waste, and the anthropomorphic fire demon Calcifer), some of whom go from idle to hard-working and determined, particularly Sophie as she journeys to rid herself of the Witch's curse. 

Along the way, we get sweeping views of the countryside and immersive doorways to different realms. And then there are delightful cooking scenes, where you can almost feel the grease and steam (which goes to show how brilliant Japanese animators are with food). Sophie's transitions between different ages throughout the film are subtle but thematically challenging and visceral. As for the titular fortress (a combination of 2D and 3D effects), it flies in the same realm as Laputa, and also maybe Kiki (if only at a distance). It's a set piece to behold.

On the other hand, while Mononoke and Spirited Away dipped their toes into dark spirituality, Howl’s Moving Castle embraces its own deep brand of mysticism and sorcery. Regarding Calcifer, it's a question of whether this otherwise intriguing element (sort of recalling C.S. Lewis's The Screwtape Letters) sugarcoats demonology or at least appears tamer than it actually is. (Something to think and/or talk about.) 

TRIVIAL FACT: For Miyazaki's next film, he insisted on zero CGI and, instead, on traditional hand-drawn techniques, through and through. Talk about making a splash--if you catch my drift. 

Tales From Earthsea (2006) 

Adapted from Ursula K. Le Guin's fantasy book series, Tales From Earthsea is largely considered to be the least of all of Ghibli's films. As the directorial debut of Goro Miyazaki (son of Hayao), the bleak and convoluted story (which apparently borrows elements from Nausicaä and Princess Mononoke) centers around the journeys of young prince Arren, princess Theru, and ancient warrior Sparrowhawk, during a present conflict between numerous spirits and tribes, and a time when mankind and dragons once lived in unity. 

Other themes and elements involve slavery, mysterious plagues, fallen kingdoms, and Eastern worldviews of "eternal life" and facing Death itself. With that in mind, Earthsea is also one of the scariest and most violent entries in Ghibli's filmography, trailing Mononoke by that much. Its main culprits are some disturbing and frightening images of blood and grotesque faces, particularly the villainous Cob. There is, however, a bittersweet and beautiful song over the end credits, as well as some amazing scenery to look at.

TRIVIAL FACT: Goro Miyazaki would escape this inaugural slump (and semi-autobiography?) with his next feature, this time focusing on a compelling coming-of-age story. 

Ponyo (2008) 

Hayao Miyazaki's gorgeous and charming fantasy adventure--a rather simple story about a little fish who longs to be human, and her friendship with a young boy--is the director's first film since My Neighbor Totoro made specifically for children (and his first "all-ages" feature since Kiki twenty years prior). But that doesn't mean adults won't find it just as (if not more) enthralling and beautiful. 

Drawing inspiration from Hans Christian Andersen's The Little Mermaid, Ponyo presents its own original spin with themes of unconditional love and spirituality. It also features dynamic characters like Ponyo's sorcerer father and goddess mother, and the nursing home seniors that 5-year-old Sosuke (very mature for his age) and his mother regularly visit. 

The animation (none of which was CGI) is very expressionistic and lovely, if at times strange. The first five minutes, featuring the adorable protagonist riding atop jellyfish, are practically dialogue-free. (I wonder if they would've made the whole film that way.) But it's the film's water effects that are the most captivating (this was only eight years before Disney made Moana), especially when Ponyo runs across a tsunami of water-fish. Jaw-dropping. Even the character's metamorphosis throughout the film has something in common with fellow visionary auteur Guillermo del Toro. 

Ponyo showcases Miyazaki's mastery of childhood innocence, mature themes (moments involving the main seaside town under water), boundless imagination, fantastical creatures, and engrossing storytelling. It'll fill you with joy. 

TRIVIAL FACT #1: Perhaps it's not surprising that the American dub was translated by E.T. screenwriter Melissa Mathison, as Ponyo shares similarities with that Steven Spielberg classic. Even Spielberg regulars Kathleen Kennedy & Frank Marshall served as producers for the English version. 

TRIVIAL FACT #2: This was a rare occasion where Miyazaki was very much interested in making a sequel to one of his films. But longtime producing partner Toshio Suzuki convinced him to adapt a Tatsuo Hori novel instead. 

REVIEW: "Nope" (2022)

Jordan Peele's third directorial feature is a real genre-bender. As he did with his 2019 film, Us, the former Comedy Central alum seamlessly blends sci-fi, comedy, and even western with his trademark brand of horror that's been uniquely bold, provocative, and socially-conscious since his 2017 debut, Get Out. 

Many have theorized Nope to be an acronym for "Not Of Planet Earth," based on spoiler-free, cryptic marketing, since the film's plot involves a pair of siblings who hope to capture footage of possible UFOs in their area. But is it an alien invasion, or something else? 

Peele claims his film is a commentary on humanity's toxic relationship with spectacle and media, as well as obsession with celebrity. Nowhere is this better illustrated than through a tragic (and shocking) subplot involving, of all things, a sitcom-starring chimpanzee and the effects of those events. At the same time, a family of Hollywood horse trainers (descendants of a colored jockey in, supposedly, the first-ever motion picture clip) represent--and shed light on--untold stories in the history of cinema, further represented in various ethnicities and identities of the supporting cast (Daniel Kaluuya's horse trainer OJ Haywood, Keke Palmer's sister Emerald, Brandon Perea's Hispanic Fry's Electronics employee Angel Torres, and Steven Yeun's Asian-American child-star-turned-amusement-park-owner Ricky "Jupe" Park). 

Because the story involves scope and scale, Nope benefits from jaw-dropping IMAX cinematography by Christopher Nolan regular Hoyte Van Hoytema (who shot on rarely-used Kodak 65mm film). The sound design is a combination of mystery, silence, and dread; ditto the intriguing chapter titles, and some frightening imagery that resembles theater screens, camera lenses, carnival slides, and projectors. The aforementioned theme park, Juniper's Claim, has already become a feature attraction at Universal Studios; the tone of this very set recalls the Bates Motel from Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho. And speaking of movies, there's a poster of the 1970s western, Buck and the Preacher (starring Sidney Poitier and Harry Belafonte), in the background of one scene. 

Getting back to the film's title, it could mean turning away from impending doom ("Yeah, yeah, nah, nah"), or a lack of explanation. Characters spew references to "the little guys with the big eyes" (illustrated in visuals of creepy figurines) or "the Viewers" (hmm), not to mention a new twist on Sheb Wooley's classic 1950s song, "The Purple-People Eater." 

Other themes include missed opportunities; complicated family relationships (and relationships in general, including signals); invasion of privacy (so to speak); and the cost of pursuing the impossible (recalling Steven Spielberg's Close Encounters and Jaws), with one character taking it too far by profiting off of past trauma. Michael Wincott's cameraman Antlers Holst perhaps says it best: "This dream you're chasing--where you end up at the top of the mountain--it's the dream you never wake up from." 

Ironic as it is, Peele really knows how to make an event film, and then subvert our expectations. Viewers will either respond, "Yeah," "What," or simply, "Nope". Equally ironic, the film carries this sense of, "We want to look away, but we can't" (with at least one massive jump scare, and another sequence that gives the bathroom scene from 2017's It a run for its money). Or maybe there's more to this film than we think. As I said, Peele really knows how to make a socially-conscious piece of cinema, which no one should say no to. 

REVIEW: "Marcel the Shell With Shoes On" (2022)

The best film of 2022, by far, has nothing to do with the multiverse or Tom Cruising around in jet planes (as incredible as Everything Everywhere All At Once and Top Gun: Maverick were, respectively). It stars a tiny, google-eyed mollusk--in miniature footwear, no less--on a quest to find his family. 

What began as a trilogy of YouTube shorts, followed by two children's books, Marcel the Shell With Shoes On is now a 90-minute stop-motion adventure in a live-action setting, shot in the style of a documentary. Director/co-writer Dean Fleisher-Camp (who helmed the original shorts) plays the man behind the camera, while actress/co-writer Jenny Slate reprises her role as the adorable voice of Marcel, who lives with his grandmother Nana Connie (voiced by actress Isabella Rosselini). 

The premise sounds absurd, not to mention simple considering its view of the world from the smallest perspective. But Marcel (both the character and the film) is actually deeper and more emotionally-resonant. It contains various existential and philosophical themes of life, death, loneliness, angst, separation (including divorce), mental illness (i.e., Nana Connie's condition, possibly memory loss), our need for connection and community, and the difference between the latter and an "audience." The beauty of nature is in the smallest of details, which should be enough to indicate the artists' dedication behind the scenes. 

The look of the film is a cheerful delight. I couldn't help but wonder how some of the visual effects were done. The effective and believable combination of stop-motion animation, live-action environments, and creative writing, directing, and worldbuilding makes Marcel work on multiple levels. Talk about genre-bending, even incorporating "60 Minutes" into its plot. (Those who didn't know reporter Lesley Stahl will certainly know her now.) 

This is a rare film that works for everybody. It also happens to be distributor A24's first "family" film and their 4th PG-rated feature (following 2017's Menashe, 2019's The Farewell, and this year's After Yang); its primary reasons for the rating include subtle-but-humorous references to shower hairs and some unnecessary misuses of God's name. 

Those elements notwithstanding, Marcel couldn't be more timely, especially after being in isolation for several months. It stands in a category of its own, although it does recall similar tones and aesthetics seen in previous animation like Aardman's 1989 claymation short Creature Comforts, Sony's 2007 CG penguin-surfing comedy Surf's Up, and Studio Ghibli's 2010 hand-drawn adaptation of Mary Norton's The Borrowers, The Secret World of Arrietty. (Slate has sited Ghibli co-founder Hayao Miyazaki as a major influence.) Marcel is thoroughly irresistible, funny, and heartwarming. You can't help but cry and smile. 

REVIEW COLLECTION: The Library of Studio Ghibli, Part 2 (The 1990s)

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, and have been slightly edited.

Only Yesterday (1991) 

Up until 2016, this engrossing coming-of-age story (written and directed by Ghibli co-founder Isao Takahata) had never been released in North America. In celebration of the film's 25th anniversary, we're glad it was.

Only Yesterday follows a young woman in her late-20s, named Taeko, as she recounts her childhood in the 1960s, while visiting family in the countryside in present-day early-1980s. The story jumps back and forth between the past (animated in dream-like watercolors) and the present (with lighting that feels natural), as Taeko recalls her upbringing with family (the scene where they eat a pineapple for the first time is a standout), trends and hot-button topics in school (including discussions about periods, teenage hormones, and math), missed opportunities, and life in the city vs. life in the country. Even the editing style (a unique trademark of Takahata's) is key, with quick cuts related to Taeko's memories. Other themes include the meaning of "home" vs. how one is or was raised; remembering the hopes and dreams of your childhood, yet not defining yourself by your past; and, finally, learning to be real with yourself.

Upon my first viewing of this beautiful and amazing film, I could already tell it was something special. Only Yesterday stands with the best live-action features, because its characters and animation are so rich and believable. It also has a unique sense of humor, quirks and all, while there is power in its more quiet moments. I cannot recommend it enough.

Porco Rosso (1992) 

Hayao Miyazaki's films each evoke a sense of flight, one way or another. Whether it's Kiki flying on her broomstick, floating cities in Castle in the Sky, or wind riders in Nausicaä. With his 1992 aerial adventure Porco Rosso, the legendary director's lifelong fascination with aviation is literally central to the plot this time around.

Set in a pre-Fascist Italy in the 1930s, Porco is, perhaps, Miyazaki's wittiest and most comedic film. Its titular character is a flying ace-turned-bounty hunter, cursed with the face of a pig, as he battles air pirates (one of whom clearly resembles Popeye's nemesis Bluto) and takes up a feisty protégé who is smarter than she looks (subtle themes of gender equality in tact). Featuring swashbuckling action and melodramatic-but-genuine romance that recalls Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman from Casablanca, Porco also has rich attention-to-detail in the animation of its planes and the work put into them (kudos to the sound department); you can almost feel the wood, the metal, the engines, the weilding.

The film is full of life and humor. It's opening credits (recalling the opening sequence of Totoro) are a fun and creative example of multicultural appeal, while concept art during the end credits is evocative and meditative. The same goes for some deep spiritual imagery of various planes ascending into the heavens in another sequence. The only minor drawbacks to this high-flying adventure are instances of smoking and drinking, as well as scenes of violent gunplay and brawling. Other than that, Porco Rosso soars.

TRIVIAL FACT: Miyazaki would return to the theme of aviation only one other time, with his 2013 film The Wind Rises.

Ocean Waves (1993) 

One of the very rare Ghibli films made exclusively for television, this young-adult feature was also the first made by a younger staff at the studio, and the first without any involvement from Hayao Miyazaki or Isao Takahata. Like Only Yesterday, Ocean Waves is another unseen gem that had never been released in North America until recent years. From director Tomomi Mochizuki and adapted from Saeko Himuro's novel of the same name, the story is told from the perspective of two best friends (Taku and Yutaka) who fall for the new girl in high school (Rikako). The former friend reflects on one particular summer trip as he heads to a class reunion.

Other themes include class structure and integration; teen angst (at least two scenes get emotionally violent), romance, and isolation; cultural differences; and memory. Ocean Waves also benefits from a clever editing style, as well as striking sketches during the end credits.

Pom Poko (1994) 

In the mid-1990s, writer-director Isao Takahata made a film about a community of raccoon dogs (tanuki) who attempt to save their forest from rapid urban developing, through the ancient art of shape-shifting. Told from multiple voiceovers, Pom Poko (a phrase that refers to the titular creatures drumming their bellies) covers numerous, sometimes heavy, themes as environmentalism, man's relationship with or destruction of nature, "divine retribution," and consumerism via homes, shopping malls and golf courses. (The English dub isn't bad, and explains these themes a bit more clearly.) It's like an Akira Kurosawa epic, but with animals.

The film has some of the liveliest animation I've ever seen, with multiple examples of morphing, distinct personality traits, and character movements. The opening sequence, where two opposing clans change from four-legged creatures to two-legged warriors, is captivating. Ditto the bizarre "parade," where two men debate over fantasy and reality, unaware of the supernatural events going on behind them. The filmmakers and artists even play around with various anime styles and caricatures, most of them very amusing and funny.

Essentially, this is a story of the difficulty in adjusting to an ever-growing and -changing world. But it does so through the lens of animism and Eastern mysticism. Not to mention a few melancholy "survival of the fittest" worldviews, as well as scenes of imagery that get weirder and weirder.

TRIVIAL FACT #1: This may have been one of the first Ghibli projects to incorporate CGI--the library scene being a case in point.

TRIVIAL FACT #2: Pom Poko may have also been the first (and only?) Ghibli film to reference real-life companies, including Disneyland and McDonald's.

Whisper of the Heart (1995) 

Fantasy-dramas are like rare gems. They're very hard to come by, and amazing to behold. Such is the case with this contemporary coming-of-age tale from Studio Ghibli. In the same category as Only Yesterday and Ocean Waves, Whisper of the Heart is about a bookish teenage girl (Shizuku) who aspires to be a writer, a young violin-making boy (Seiji) with ambitions of his own, and a mysterious ceramic, anthropomorphic feline (known as the Baron).

Written by Hayao Miyazaki and adapted from Aoi Hiiragi's celebrated manga, the film is less fantastical than the ads suggest, and is more of a journey of self-discovery, teenage romance, destiny, and growing up. But that doesn't make it any less immersive or challenging.

John Denver's song, "Take Me Home, Country Road," plays a significant role in the plot, especially during a strings-vocal duet that quietly turns into a lovely jam session. Even Seiji's violins-in-the-making parallel the effort and dedication of the animators behind the scenes, and therefore the story's themes of valuing hard work and being real with one's self. ("You made all these by hand? It's like magic.")

The artists also did an incredible job making the skies--and views from above the clouds--beautiful and ethereal, with a breathtaking score by Yûji Nomi to go with them. Like the Baron figure's translucent eyes in sunlight, Whisper of the Heart is a true gem.

TRIVIAL FACT #1: If you look closely, during the scene with the grandfather clock, the name "Porco Rosso" is written in the center (a reference to Miyazaki's previous film).

TRIVIAL FACT #2: This was the first and only feature film directed by Yoshifumi Kondo, who had been a Ghibli animator on films like Grave of the Fireflies, Kiki's Delivery Service, and Pom Poko. He sadly passed away three years after Whisper's release, from a ruptured aneurysm. His final credit was as a supervising animator on Miyazaki's next (and, perhaps, most ambitious) project.

Princess Mononoke (1997) 

Hayao Miyazaki's epic masterpiece, set during the brutal backdrop of feudal Japan, follows a young warrior prince, named Ashitaka, as he is stricken with a deadly curse and journeys west to find a cure.

Princess Mononoke is one of the most astounding, breathtaking, and violent films I've ever seen. It grips you immediately with its bold mythology, as well as adult themes (a far cry from the fantastical features in the Ghibli library up until then, and certainly not for children), Joe Hisaishi's sweeping score, and murky spirituality--with the latter leaning more towards a pantheistic and pessimistic worldview. This is Miyazaki's most ambitious and challenging film. (It's arguably the studio's most intense since 1988's Grave of the Fireflies.)

One thing it does have in common with the Ghibli brand (and Miyazaki's films) is man's relationship with nature. In this case, an intense battle between human beings, forest animals (including giant wolves and boars) and ancient spirits, with the fierce and vengeful San--a human raised by wolves--at the center.

The imagery, as bold and detailed as it is, does get dark and graphic, with scenes of demon-possessed creatures, fast-paced, character-driven combat, and bloodied, severed limbs. On the other hand, it illustrates the theme of how rage and hatred, as well as pain and suffering, consumes and destroys everything in its path. The same goes for its themes of industrialization, as seen in Lady Eboshi's Irontown. As a film, I give Mononoke credit for changing my perception of what I thought animé was capable of. It's a transcending and, again, challenging experience.

TRIVIAL FACT #1: At 2 hours and 13 minutes, this was the studio's longest film--up until Isao Takahata's 2013 pic, The Tale of the Princess Kaguya, which ran 5 minutes longer.

TRIVIAL FACT #2: At the time of its release, Mononoke was the highest-grossing film in Japanese history, but only just. It was eventually topped by James Cameron's Titanic. Four years later, Miyazaki would reclaim that title, once again, with another ambitious feature.

My Neighbors the Yamadas (1999) 

Isao Takahata's charming adaptation of Hisaichi Ishii's comic strip of the same name is a radical departure from his more mature and ambitious films up until then. Using a distinct and simplistic animation style, as well as watercolors, My Neighbors the Yamadas is a series of infectious vignettes about a quirky nuclear family. 

As he did with Only Yesterday, Takahata reminds us that cel animation is the best medium for his trademark merging of fantasy and reality. This is key in imaginative sequences that serve as metaphors within the Yamada clan, including stern patriarch Takashi, his wife Matsuko, teenage son Noboru, younger daughter Nonoko, and sharp-tongued grandmother Kikuchi. Said metaphors range from marriage (bobsledding around a giant wedding cake) to childrearing (bicycling in front of a giant snail), along with other existential, social, and familial themes throughout. 

One clever moment finds the parents facing off against the television remote as if dancing the tango, while another scene (featuring a motorcycle gang) has an unexpectedly refined and mature look. With chapter titles that include, "Art is Brief, Life is Long" and "Age Comes More Easily Than Wisdom," Yamadas is funny, heartwarming, and full of life. 

TRIVIAL FACT: Takahata would use a similar animation style for his next feature film, 14 years later.