Why Saving Mr. Banks Might Actually Be Saving Mr. Disney

He's won more Oscars than any other human, but in spite of being the most formidable figure in the history of Hollywood, Walt Disney has never been in a movie. 

The reason for that is pretty simple. From the moment that Walt died in 1966, the company he founded started manipulating his image into one of a benevolent, unimpeachable deity. In the fifty years since then, they've guarded it closely. Perhaps too closely. And Disney the Man has kind of disappeared behind Disney the Brand. Which is a real shame, because Disney the Man is one of the most fascinating and brilliant humans of the 20th century. 

So when the Disney company announced that they were making Saving Mr. Banks and that Tom Hanks would be portraying Walt, I was excited but also extremely apprehensive. With the Disney name attached to it, would the film be just another entry into the company-approved mythology of Walt?

P.L. Travers is not very optimistic.

Imagine my surprise when the first thing you see or hear of Walt Disney in Saving Mr. Banks is a loud and horrible smoker's cough. It's the kind of thing that never would have been approved by the Disney company that I grew up with. 

Then again, neither would most of Saving Mr. Banks. 

What appears to be a family-friendly comedy about the making of the Mary Poppins film is actually a deeper and darker examination of childhood traumas and how they can inform the rest of a person's life. And, eventually, how those traumas can be transformed into the highest caliber of art: the honest kind. From the get-go (and from that smoker's cough) this is a film that defied almost every expectation that I had for it and made me love it even more.

Jason Schwartzman and Ryan the Temp compose a musical interlude to British frumpiness. 

Saving Mr. Banks is split between two places and time periods. The first is Los Angeles in 1961, when author P.L. Travers (the sublime Emma Thompson) visits the Disney studios to collaborate on a script to a Mary Poppins movie that she hadn't yet relinquished the rights to make. The second is turn of the century Australia, where young Helen Goff grows up adoring her alcoholic father (played with such a delicate, endearing sadness by the always underrated Colin Farrell) and distanced from her suicidal mother. The scenes in California are mostly humorous, with the obstinate and opinionated Travers wreaking havoc on Disney's creative team. She insists that the color red be left out of the film, that Mr. Banks shave his mustache, that Dick Van Dyke has to go, and that, under no circumstances, should there be any of Walt Disney's "silly cartoons" in the picture.

Colin Farrell's sad, puppy-dog eyes are the break out stars of this movie. 

As the film goes on and spends more time on Travers' unhappy childhood, it becomes painfully clear that she has her reasons for clinging so desperately to the characters that she created. Emma Thompson has never been better than she is in this film (admittedly, she is almost always good). In the hands of a less capable actress, the adult Travers would have come across as a cold, unfeeling British caricature. Thompson plays her as a woman with a tempest of emotions raging underneath her exterior, beaten down by the necessity of neglect. If anyone at the movies this year is begging for catharsis, it's this P.L. Travers person. 

Of course, that doesn't happen without the perquisite spoonful of sugar. In this case, that is a trip to Disneyland (filmed at the actual Disneyland! Dressed up in 60's accoutrements!) with its very namesake.

The carousel horse that Emma Thompson is sitting on in this scene really is named "Jingles". She was rededicated in 2008 to honor Julie Andrews. Though not visible in this picture, her saddle is adorned with the letters "JA" and a picture of Mary Poppins with her famous umbrella. 

Walt himself is only a secondary player in this film, but what little we see of him both surprised and impressed me. This is the first glimpse we've been allowed of Walt the Man. He tosses back Scotch! Gets angry! Curses! Smokes a cigarette! Tom Hanks embodies him with the same tinkle-eyed and playful spirit that we've come to expect from Walt Disney, but there's something else here, too. There's the unmistakable scent of desperation. In real life, this man was used to getting what he wanted and there was nothing he wanted more than Mary Poppins, especially after being told no for twenty years. He cajoled and manipulated his way into getting this movie made, and it goes without saying that it was the greatest film he ever did. Ultimately, Walt was so passionate about it (they even played "Feed the Birds" at his funeral), that it's not hard to believe, as the film supposes, it must have  been somehow connected to his strained relationship with his own father.

I've read quite a few criticisms of this film for its historical inaccuracies. And for its portrayal of Travers and the many aspects of her life that went without mention (her estranged adopted son, her fascination with mysticism, her unconventional romantic relationships with both men and women) and it all seems so unnecessary to me. Saving Mr. Banks simply wasn't meant to be about any of that. It is a sweet and emotionally resonant film about the powerful nature of storytelling and the ways that the stories we tell can change the world- for other people and, most importantly, for ourselves.

Wait! I forgot to tell you how adorable Paul Giamatti is in this movie! 

Why Nebraska is Not as Depressing as it Looks

I've never thought of Nebraska as a particularly magical place. For one, it's the ninth least populated state in the US. I think they grow a lot of corn there? I'm not entirely sure.  Like most of the middle parts of the country,  Nebraska is merely a pit stop on the way to some infinitely more interesting place.

But it's also the setting for Alexander Payne's latest Oz meets Cervantes addition to his brilliant body of work.

Three minutes, Macgruber!

The premise for Nebraska is deceptively simple. Prickly old alcoholic Woody Grant (Bruce Dern, in an Oscar-worthy performance) thinks he's won a million dollars in a sweepstakes and wants to go to Lincoln, Nebraska to collect his winnings. After some convincing, his sort-of-a-loser son David (Will Forte, the guy who played MacGruber),  agrees to drive him. Everyone knows that it's a scam, except for Woody himself, who believes with an almost religious fervor that the money is his to collect. "Why would they say that if it wasn't true?" he asks so earnestly that your heart actually aches for him.

The two men wind up in Hawthorne for the better part of the film, the small Nebraska town where Woody grew up. And, of course, their journey is ultimately more about their own relationship than it is about the prize at the end.

Forget Gosling, Bruce Dern is a real lady killer in this one.

There are many times when the film ventures into predictable territory, but Dern plays Woody with a tremendous sensibility that never fails to be compelling. It's not only his rambling gait and his hunched over posture, but his eyes, which perfectly capture that wide-open, almost child-like naivety that often returns to humans in the twilight of their life. Like Don Quixote, he believes his own delusions so whole-heartedly that, much like the town of Hawthorne, it's easy to get swept up in them. And it's damn near impossible not to root for him, even with all of his obvious flaws. 

Shooting the movie in black and white was, I imagine, a huge risk. But it's a risk that ultimately pays off. It lends the grim, Midwestern atmosphere a haunted, apocalyptic vibe. Particularly in Hawthorne, you feel like you are staring into the ruins of some long forgotten civilization. This isn't a thriving culture, but a way of life that is dying out forever. As Woody tours the house where he grew up, with his two sons and his smack-talking wife, he might as well be leading a tour through a particularly decrepit museum. 

This is exactly what my house looks like on most holidays, plaid and all.

It would get unbearable after a while, if it didn't lead into one of the greatest pay-offs of any movie that I've seen this year. 

Alexander Payne's last film, The Descendants, was full of vibrant colors, beautiful Hawaiian beachscapes, and charming ukulele music (as well as a thoroughly depressing story about a man taking his wife off of life support- but you know). I can't imagine a less likely follow-up than the bleak visuals of Nebraska. But Payne is one of this generations most effortless directors, oscillating back and forth from uproarious humor to quiet devastation. Nebraska has plenty of both. And, at any rate, the film itself is never as bleak as it's stark black and white visuals would suggest. This is ultimately a story about redemption and it's a good one which culminates in the most thrilling, slow-moving truck ride through a Midwestern town that I have ever seen. 

Why You Should Feel all the Feelings with 12 Years A Slave

I wasn't sure that I wanted to see 12 Years a Slave. I knew that it was probably an excellent film and that it was going to be nominated for all of the awards this year, but I just wasn't sure that I could stomach it. I also wasn't sure that I wanted to subject myself to two hours of movie that would ultimately make me feel horrible about a past that I can never truly understand. 

But curiosity (as well as an obsessive need to bite at every single bit of Oscar bait) won out and I wound up spending a Saturday night at the movies, in a theater full of people who were sobbing as loudly as I was. 

And I am very glad that I did because 12 Years a Slave is not only the best film I've ever seen about slavery. It's one of the best films I've ever seen about anything. 

It begins with the familiar text; “this film is based on a true story”. I’ve seen those words so many times that I normally wouldn’t think about them. But 12 Years A Slave isn’t just some approximation of America’s most terrifying institution. It’s the very real, very true story of a man named Solomon Northrop, who lived in Syracuse with his family and woke up one morning to discover that he’d been chained to the floor of a dungeon. It sounds more like a setup for a horror film than a thing that actually happened in the real world. Nevertheless, free men like Northrop were kidnapped from the North and sold into slavery.  Solomon Northrop was lucky enough to escape and wrote a book detailing his experiences, but how many more died quietly in captivity, taking their secrets with them to the grave?

Michael Fassbender is good at making friends.

It's one of the many things that 12 Years leaves you to ponder. 

There are many brutal scenes of people being whipped, raped, separated from their children, but it is the quiet moments in between those things that are even more impactful. Within the first five minutes, Solomon is beaten by a man with a board and it is awful, but not as awful as the moment afterwards, when he removes his shirt and you get just a glimpse of the ripped bloodstains on the back of it. Or the way he pleads with the man to let him keep his clothing because it was a gift from his wife and the man insists that it’s just “rags and tatters.” The violence in itself is devastating, but the existential reality is even more so. Solomon must silence his intellect if he wants to survive. He must hold back his talents. No one can even know that he can read or write.

I can't wait until the awards, when I can finally learn how to pronounce Chiwetel.

Music plays a key role in 12 Years a Slave, from Solomon's fiddle-playing to the aforementioned funeral scene to the cruel taunts of a particularly brutal overseer. So does the actual landscape of the deep South. There are so many extended shots that revel in the Louisiana wilderness where the movie was filmed. The plantations themselves are physically beautiful, which only elevates the more horrific scenes, including one where Solomon hangs from a noose for an entire day, while the surrounding people go on with their lives. 

So much of this is just an incredible accomplishment for Steve McQueen. He shows a remarkable amount of restraint as a director. This is not a film that attempts to lecture or shame anyone. And while there are certainly elements of 12 Years that are shocking, it never succumbs to sensationalism, which is an achievement on its own. It does not feel the need to preach to anyone, because there is no one underlying message here. Slavery is bad? Okay. We all knew that. 12 Years is the first film about slavery that is brave enough to say: “This is the way things were and that’s it.”

Okay, Miss Alfre. I see you. 

By the end, when a man shows up calling Solomon by his actual name, we- the viewers- and Solomon himself barely even register it. Everything but the plantation feels so long ago and so far away. I’m not ashamed to admit that I spend the last twenty minutes of the movie in tears and the very end caused me to sob. I wasn’t the only one. On the walk back to the car, in the freezing cold, my brother said to me, “Why were you crying? It had a happy ending.”

“But it didn’t!” I said and the tears started coming again. Because, yes, Solomon Northrop is a free man. He leaves the plantation, but he also leaves behind countless others who will never know a life outside of slavery. Patsy clings to him like a life raft, but he makes no promises to save her. This isn't Django and Solomon is not going to return and kill all of the white people and Sam Jackson and rescue Olivia Pope from Leo's evil clutches. This is the most painful part of the history of our nation. And like those twelve years that Solomon spent away from his family, we will never be able to take back those atrocities.

I expect that in the coming days and weeks, I’m going to continue to digest this film. I’m going to think of other things that I really liked about it and I’m going to maybe think of things that I didn’t like as much. But I will say this: If you are on the fence about going to see 12 Years A Slave, don’t be. 

Why Disney's Frozen Will Make You Want to Build Ice Castles With Idina Menzel (even if you hate snow)

As much as I love Disney movies, they rarely surprise me and I don't expect them to.

After all, the Walt Disney Company has been operating for the better part of a century under the same principles. Wishes can come true, dreams are worth dreaming, the good guys always win, the bad guys always lose, the prince rescues the princess, and immediately after the climactic battle sequence, it starts to rain.

It's not rocket science. Disney movies are so formulaic that they are basically their own genre. So, I went into Frozen thinking that I had it all figured out. An icy, Norwegian version of Tangled with an extra princess and a creepy snowman character? Okay. Sounds good enough.

This is weird, but I guess I'm into it. 

Ice ice baby!

So imagine my great shock when Frozen veered off-course into quirky and unpredictable territory! Because, ladies and gentlemen, Disney has finally made a modern fairy tale and it is unspeakably lovely. 

It starts off as generic princess fodder. Anna (the perpetually charming, even as a voice actor, Kristen Bell) is the spunky younger sister of soon to be Queen Elsa. What Anna doesn't know is that Queen Elsa (who is also Queen of Broadway and Queen of my Heart, Idina Menzel) actually has this little, presumably sorcery-related issue where she turns things into ice cubes when she gets upset. The night of Elsa's coronation, Anna (which is pronounced Ah-nah, which is how I will forever pronounce Anna from here on out) meets a studly ginger prince and decides to go off and marry him immediately. This, of course, upsets Elsa (because marrying someone you just met? How Snow White of you!) which plunges the kingdom into eternal winter. Anna insists on going out to find her sister and talk to her? Change her mind? End winter? She's not really sure what she's going to do, actually, but she knows she has to be the one to do it. And along the way, we meet a guy who was raised by trolls and has an unhealthy obsession with reindeer and a talking snowman who was built by Elsa and has an unhealthy obsession with summer.

Idina Menzel playing a misunderstood witch who is exiled from her society and forced to live in solitude... where have I heard this one before?

If all of that sounds kind of nothing like what you were expecting, just wait until you get into the third act. 

For years, Disney has been trying to make a modern classic without losing touch with its fairy tale tradition. They came close on a few occasions (most notably Enchanted and The Princess and the Frog), but they never seemed to get it quite right. Frozen is that modern classic. Of course, there are show-stopping musical numbers. There are songs that will not leave your head for days. The animation is breathtaking and even reminiscent of Disney's greatest artistic achievements, like Cinderella and Peter Pan. But there is also a contemporary twist. This is the first princess movie where the central story arc hasn't been a romantic relationship. There is no big, sweeping ballad that the two main characters sing to each other. The closest thing that we get to a ballroom is a scene where Elsa literally transforms into the Snow Queen, building herself a brand new castle and a gown that the other Disney princesses would probably kill for. And at its core, Frozen is a story about the relationship between two sisters. After nearly a century of expecting something else, that is refreshing. 

Something's... not right.

Ermegerd, hugzzzz!

Why I'm Canceling My Trip to Space (or, A Review of Gravity)

About halfway through Gravity, after having been pummeled with space garbage for the nth time and knocked around like a tether ball and almost choking to death on her own carbon dioxide, Sandra Bullock says, "I hate space." It's one of those rare instances in film where you know, the moment it happens, that you have just witnessed a moment in cinematic history. 

Gurl, I know. Space is the worst.

Because Gravity is not just a movie. It's one of those Motion Picture Event films, like Titanic or Gone With the Wind or Jaws, that you don't just sit and watch. You let it happen to you.

And also, it's a god damn masterpiece. 

This is a real, honest-to-goodness triumph for director Alfonso Cuaron. It's a visceral film that virtually swallows the viewer in the act of watching it. It's perfectly paced and plotted. It's terrifying. It's visually stunning. And the entire thing is anchored by a career-defining performance by Sandra Bullock (I hate to bring up Oscar already... but seriously). 

For me, it is also the biggest surprise of the entire year. 

Let me back up for a moment. This summer, I went to a midnight screening of Man of Steel (don't get me started on that piece of crap). Prior to the movie, we saw the 3D trailer for Gravity and, I'm not kidding, the entire theater erupted in inappropriate laughter at one point (I think when Sandra Bullock was desperately trying to grab onto the satellite and kept missing?). As we were leaving, in between complaints about Man of Steel, I said, "Can we just talk about that trailer for Gravity?" and everyone agreed that it looked absolutely terrible. 

I've never been happier to admit that I'm wrong. 

Astronauts on leashes: a character study.

It's so unusual to find a movie that works so completely, from start to finish, and in so many different ways. Gravity works as a popcorn flick, full of suspense and external conflict, incredible special effects, and mind-blowing action sequences. But it also works as a quieter, existential examination of the effects of life threatening situations on the human subconscious. It's a sci-fi opera. It's a monster movie where the atmosphere is the monster. But most of all, it's a movie about the remarkable ability of human beings to survive.

Gravity opens with text that reads, "Life in space is impossible." It's so impossible that humans literally have to build machines to house their bodies in order to live.  And those machines have never looker punier than they do in this film. Over the course of the movie, the Hubble telescope is ripped to pieces, the International Space Station completely decimated, and we are left with one tiny human body, pushed to its limits, swallowed by the blackness of space. And that's the true genius of Gravity: this is the first time a movie about space has managed to communicate the enormity of space. And maybe even the futility of human technology.

Cuaron, who has been working on this film on and off since 2006, is nothing short of a wizard. The first shot is an almost twenty-minute, fluid camera shot that would make you say "wow!" if you weren't busy gaping at how utterly fucking real everything looks. From there on out, it's all choreography, like a zero-g ballet with devastating consequences. It's so immersive and wonderful, it leaves you breathless and amazed and kind of in a state of disbelief- a remarkable achievement in the age of CGI fantasy cinema.

This is a space epic that will ultimately be listed alongside 2001: A Space Odyssey and Alien and Star Trek. And it's especially hard not to think about 2001: A Space Odyssey, when watching Gravity. But whereas Kubrick's film was about mankind journeying up into space, Gravity is about making it back down to earth. And whereas 2001 was overwhelmingly a film about men, Gravity is a film anchored around the strength of a woman. But instead of getting into feminist theory in Cuaron's movies, I'll use this space to praise Sandra Bullock, who delivers the best performance of her career in this film. With a setting this immense, it is imperative that the actor puts out work that is equally immense and Bullock is up to the task. Entire scenes rise and fall to the rhythm of Bullock's breathing. There are long stretches with no dialogue and no human interaction where Bullock must emote so much intensity using nothing but facial expressions. It's easy to see why practically ever actress in Hollywood turned this role down (including Angelina Jolie... twice). But Bullock doesn't only handle the part, she kills it. And she takes the entire audience along with her, forcing them to feel everything that she feels.

Gravity is only ninety minutes long (and thank goodness, because it's ninety minutes of sweaty-palmed cinematic agony) in an age where most movies seem to tap out at the two and a half hour mark.  It's also absolutely essential to see in 3D and on the biggest screen that you can find. Nothing else would not do justice to this expansive work of art. Do yourself a favor and let Gravity pull you in.  It's nothing like any experience that you've ever had at the movies and you're unlikely to experience anything like it ever again. 

The exact position I was in on the floor of the theater, waiting for this movie to finish.

By the end, you might hate space, too.  But if you're anything like me, you probably be a little in love with it as well. 

Why I Almost Walked Out On Man of Steel

When I love something, I make excuses for it. It's why I went to see The Phantom Menace when they rereleased it in 3D and it's why I convinced myself that Superman Returns was a good movie. 

Kal-El? Is that you?

Because I love Superman. He's always been my favorite superhero, even when it became obvious that he lacked the edgy, "cool" factor that inherent in other superhero properties. I don't care about any of that. I've loved him all this time and I thought that I would love him forever. 

Until Zack Snyder got a hold of him, at least. 

Man of Steel is a terrible, disjointed mess of a film that is full of plot holes and terrible dialogue and pointless violence. Even that, I might be able to forgive, if Zack Snyder had addressed his source material with even the slightest hint of respect. Instead, what we get is a desperate, inferior Dark Knightification of Superman that attempts to assassinate every single iconic character from the 75 year history of the comic book. As the film goes on (and it does, for nearly two and a half painful hours) it becomes clearer and clearer that this isn't a case of misunderstanding the Superman property. Zack Snyder and the people who made this film (and, I wager, the people who actually like it) must genuinely hate Superman. 

How else can you explain the fact that the word "Superman" isn't even spoken out loud a single time in the entire film? How can you explain a scene where Jonathan Kent actually chastises his son for saving a bus full of other people's children? How can you explain an almost laughable sequence in which Clark Kent watches his adopted father die in a tornado rather than save him because he's that afraid of revealing his true identity? 

In what incantation of the Superman stories have Clark and Jonathan Kent been that unbelievably selfish? And how, having been raised to think like that, could Clark ever become the hero that Metropolis needs him to be? 

Don't worry. Amy Adams and Morpheus are skeptical, too.

The short answer is: he can't. 

When Man of Steel isn't assaulting its source material, it is trying to be some kind of weird, sci-fi, alien invasion movie where Michael Shannon yells a lot and Jor-El hangs around as a computer program. Or it is trying to be a commercial for IHOP (the pancake restaurant features very prominently in several shameless product placement scenes). Or it is showing an entire city being leveled to the ground in the most offensive display of meaningless disaster-porn this side of Michael Bay. Or it jumping around in rapid-fire flashbacks like Terrence Malick meets an episode of Lost in a way that actually makes the Superman origin story (one of, I thought, the most well-known stories on the planet) confusing. 

Michael Shannon takes a break from yelling to wonder why he did this movie.

What Man of Steel doesn't do is develop the character of Clark Kent. The doofy, bespectacled reporter is nowhere to be found. Instead, he's been replaced by a beefy hipster Hercules who works on fishing boats and tells Lois Lane his life story five minutes after meeting her (even though we already established that his father died to protect his secret identity and, oh yeah, Lois is a reporter!). 

And Amy Adams, who I would go to bat for any day as one of the finest and most underrated actresses in the business, actually looks terrible in this movie. Her version of Lois is not ambitious, is not even particularly smart, and spends most of the movie following Clark around like a love sick puppy. She's even willing to trash her huge, probably career-making, story about extraterrestrial life on earth without a fuss because, well, have you seen Henry Cavill? 

I mean, seriously. Have you seen him?

There's no humor to be found here, either. Humor was a key part of each and every one of the earlier Superman films, whether it was the ineptitude of Lex Luthor's henchmen or Clark's clumsiness or Lois' brassy attitude. You've got to remember, this is ultimately a story about a man wearing tights and a bright red cape who can fly. It's not exactly Shakespeare. Even The Dark Knight, as bleak as it was, had moments where laughter eased the tension. But there is not a single moment of bright color or joy to redeem this cynical shell of a film. 

And it culminates in one of the darkest and most disturbing sequences that I've ever seen in a comic book film: Superman snaps Zod's neck. And because subtlety is clearly not Snyder's strong suit, he shows the event in all of its explicitly violent glory. In that moment, I thought about all of the Man of Steel action figures that I've seen in stores over the past few months. I thought about the fact that my job gave out 300 free tickets to the film at a local middle school. I thought about all of the children that were going to see that scene and I recoiled as though I'd been slapped across the face. Never mind the fact that it is entirely out of character for Superman to kill anyone. We've already established that every characterization in Man of Steel is incorrect. This film is being marketed to children in a very big way and to have the big guy behave like that is irresponsible and disgusting. 

There is a scene about halfway through Man of Steel, in which Lois Lane asks Superman what the S on his chest stands for. "It's not an S," he says. "On my planet, it's a symbol for Hope." That would be absolutely fantastic, if Snyder and his team really believed that it were true. But it all comes down to the fact that Snyder, and probably a lot of other people, think that the hope and the optimism inherent in the Superman story are passé or incompatible with our modern world. They are contemptuous and disparaging and would probably sneer at the end of the old Chris Reeve movies, where Superman flew across the screen and grinned a cheesy grin directly at the camera before disappearing into space. 

Will someone PLEASE think of the children?

Zack Snyder might hate Superman, but I still love him and I know that there is a place for him in this world. I know that, no matter how dark things get and how many horrible tragedies happen, there will always be room for hope. I have to believe that, because without hope, what do we have? We live in a world the person who bombed a major city during a major event ends up on the cover of Rolling Stone. Children are killing children with no discernible motives. Even movie theaters aren't safe from deadly violence, as we learned last year. So, in a time that is so dark and so desperate, what is wrong with a little bit of hope? What is wrong with a little bit of optimism? What is wrong with Superman?