Today I saw Mary Poppins Returns, starring Emily Blunt and Lin-Manuel Miranda.
The Banks children need some assistance. Michael (Ben Wishaw) and Jane (Emily Mortimer) are going to lose the family house to the bank if they don't come up with its full value because Michael repeatedly forgot to pay the mortgage.
The mean banker (Colin Firth, playing against type) doesn't want them to find the missing share certificates that will save them because he's hungry for more property. Out of the sky, Mary Poppins (Blunt) arrives to save the day.
Blunt is fantastic, as is lamplighter Jack (Miranda) and if only there were more of those two in the film, perhaps it could've met my expectations, but alas it did not.
The positives? The film is visually stunning. The sequences that include animation (the bath, my favorite) are nothing short of brilliant, with bright colors popping like a Target commercial and crisp, beautiful illustrations to match. This is the only place where, due to technology, the present-day film surpasses the classic.
Also great are the cameos by Dick Van Dyke, Angela Lansbury and Meryl Streep. Each gets an ample amount of time to do their thing and they all, of course, do it well.
The issues? The "magic" is few and far between. We feel it in the opening sequence with Jack singing about London; when Mary emerges from the clouds; when the kids dive into their first psychedelic-ish experience (in the bathtub); when the lamplighters do their dance near the end. But that's about it. The songs aren't really that memorable (through no fault of the singers) and way too much time is spent dwelling on the looming bank deadline.
While I'm on the topic of time: This film did not need to be as long as it was. It could have easily been a 90-minute delight. But no ... sequences drag on (I'm looking at you broken bowl) and character development somersaults until we're sick of hearing Michael yell and of watching the kids lose track of Georgie (Joel Dawson).
Also frustrating is the romance that is teased between Jack and Jane for the duration of the film, but never truly realized. They make a cute couple—why not give us that one?
All in all, the message is lovely and if it sparks a new generation of kids to go back and see what the original was all about, then it was worth it.
If you're hungry for a happy ending, then go forth and enjoy. But if you're looking for something transcendent, you may come away wishing for more.
~~~
Showing posts with label London. Show all posts
Showing posts with label London. Show all posts
Sunday, December 23, 2018
Sunday, January 14, 2018
Phantom Thread
Today I saw Phantom Thread, starring Daniel Day-Lewis and Vicky Krieps.
Your enjoyment of this film will depend primarily on the lens in which you choose to view the main character, Reynolds (Day-Lewis), a celebrated dressmaker in 1950s London.
One path leads you to a creative genius who is the opposite of eccentric, favoring everything in very specific (perhaps obsessive compulsive) ways. His emotional palette must be clear to begin his morning work; his space must be free from distractions—and if all demands are met, peace remains and politeness ensues.
Another view of Reynolds shows you a narcissistic, paranoid control freak who must maintain a specific decorum to command the respect he feels he's due. Abusive, hypersensitive and passive aggressive, he's attracted to women only for what he can use them for, whether that be modeling, sewing, cooking, serving or sex.
You choose.
Alma (Krieps) is taken by his charm and gets quickly caught up in the glamour of his craft. She's young, but she's also a lot smarter than he (and his imposing live-in sister) gives her credit for. Though appreciative of his talents she can't be bothered with his rules (like not buttering her bread so loudly) and soon devises a most clever way of making him appreciate her. I felt like cheering when she first put her plan into place.
Like all Paul Thomas Anderson films, the score is itself a character, but here I appreciated it more than felt it a nuisance. The pomp and circumstance associated with high fashion in some way warrants it, or even invites it.
Of course the main reason to see the film, unless you're a sucker for claustrophobic tension, is Day-Lewis, who claims this is his last big screen performance. I hope to God he's bluffing, but if he isn't, it's safe to say (as usual) he gave it his "all" and offered complexities to the character that I'm confident no other human being on earth could achieve.
But no, on the whole I didn't really like the film.
Maybe it's the present social climate for women that's to blame, but to be held hostage for over two hours by the whims of a high maintenance brat who happens to be good at his job while a clever, attractive woman adjusts every ounce of her life to accommodate or manipulate his just isn't pleasurable.
And the dresses weren't my style.
~~~
Your enjoyment of this film will depend primarily on the lens in which you choose to view the main character, Reynolds (Day-Lewis), a celebrated dressmaker in 1950s London.
One path leads you to a creative genius who is the opposite of eccentric, favoring everything in very specific (perhaps obsessive compulsive) ways. His emotional palette must be clear to begin his morning work; his space must be free from distractions—and if all demands are met, peace remains and politeness ensues.
Another view of Reynolds shows you a narcissistic, paranoid control freak who must maintain a specific decorum to command the respect he feels he's due. Abusive, hypersensitive and passive aggressive, he's attracted to women only for what he can use them for, whether that be modeling, sewing, cooking, serving or sex.
You choose.
Alma (Krieps) is taken by his charm and gets quickly caught up in the glamour of his craft. She's young, but she's also a lot smarter than he (and his imposing live-in sister) gives her credit for. Though appreciative of his talents she can't be bothered with his rules (like not buttering her bread so loudly) and soon devises a most clever way of making him appreciate her. I felt like cheering when she first put her plan into place.
Like all Paul Thomas Anderson films, the score is itself a character, but here I appreciated it more than felt it a nuisance. The pomp and circumstance associated with high fashion in some way warrants it, or even invites it.
Of course the main reason to see the film, unless you're a sucker for claustrophobic tension, is Day-Lewis, who claims this is his last big screen performance. I hope to God he's bluffing, but if he isn't, it's safe to say (as usual) he gave it his "all" and offered complexities to the character that I'm confident no other human being on earth could achieve.
But no, on the whole I didn't really like the film.
Maybe it's the present social climate for women that's to blame, but to be held hostage for over two hours by the whims of a high maintenance brat who happens to be good at his job while a clever, attractive woman adjusts every ounce of her life to accommodate or manipulate his just isn't pleasurable.
And the dresses weren't my style.
~~~
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Sherlock Holmes
Tonight I saw Sherlock Holmes, starring Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Law.
Guy Ritchie's dumbed-down version of Holmes is not without appeal, it's just not what I've pictured of the character all my life.
The dapper Sherlock (Downey Jr.) is in between cases after solving a big one and has turned into somewhat of a hermit. His faithful Watson (Law) encourages him to get back to work, and additional motivation is found by Irene (Rachel McAdams). I don't think I'd be out of line here mentioning that the chemistry between Downey Jr. and Law is far more electric than that of Downey Jr. and McAdams.
Anyway, soon the three are on the chase with Holmes predictably outwitting everyone in his path (and stopping to explain himself after each feat). The fight scenes are predictably exciting (since that's Ritchie's "thing"), but at times it's almost expected that a "BOOM" or "POW" will emerge from a puffy cloud above their heads. It's that comic book-ish.
Nevertheless, I'd say the greatest elements of the film are the cinematography and the art direction. London looks so gray and spooky, I remembered how I felt years ago when visiting the city, I took a Jack the Ripper murder mystery tour that led me well into the night. It creeped me out; not only because the stories I was hearing were true, but because the mood was "just right."
And while I don't believe the character portrayals (though undeniably entertaining) are faithful enough to their literary counterparts, I do appreciate how cool it all was to watch.
Guy Ritchie's dumbed-down version of Holmes is not without appeal, it's just not what I've pictured of the character all my life.
The dapper Sherlock (Downey Jr.) is in between cases after solving a big one and has turned into somewhat of a hermit. His faithful Watson (Law) encourages him to get back to work, and additional motivation is found by Irene (Rachel McAdams). I don't think I'd be out of line here mentioning that the chemistry between Downey Jr. and Law is far more electric than that of Downey Jr. and McAdams.
Anyway, soon the three are on the chase with Holmes predictably outwitting everyone in his path (and stopping to explain himself after each feat). The fight scenes are predictably exciting (since that's Ritchie's "thing"), but at times it's almost expected that a "BOOM" or "POW" will emerge from a puffy cloud above their heads. It's that comic book-ish.
Nevertheless, I'd say the greatest elements of the film are the cinematography and the art direction. London looks so gray and spooky, I remembered how I felt years ago when visiting the city, I took a Jack the Ripper murder mystery tour that led me well into the night. It creeped me out; not only because the stories I was hearing were true, but because the mood was "just right."
And while I don't believe the character portrayals (though undeniably entertaining) are faithful enough to their literary counterparts, I do appreciate how cool it all was to watch.
Sunday, December 09, 2007
Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street
This morning I screened Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street, starring Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter.
The story, based on the popular musical, follows barber Benjamin Barker on his journey from happy family man to vicious killer. But there's more to it than that.
Without sounding like a complete cinelitist, many people will probably see and dismiss this movie as nothing more than a typical Burtonesque display of cool effects and crazy makeup. And that's a shame—because if they dig deeper and focus not only on the visual rewards, but the heart of the characters, they'll see a more profound film.
As usual, Johnny Depp (Barker) is brilliant as the main character, wearing more expressions on his powder-pale face than any other man could possibly muster. He is darling as a charming husband and father, then equally as effective as a violent monster. Alan Rickman is also notably good as his rival, Judge Turpin. Rounding out the main cast is the always-convincingly-creepy Helena Bonham Carter as Mrs. Lovett, a terrible pie maker who falls in love with Todd and becomes his key accomplice in murder.
If we unveil the allegory, we are left with this: terrible, unforgivable things happen to a good, decent person, robbing him of his faith in all of mankind. As a result, he retreats to a place so dark that he loses every trace of the person he once was, allowing negativity to thrive in its absence. That darkness arrives in the form of a typical jealous woman who will go to great lengths to conceal truth and protect her own interests. Only when it's too late will he realize that she has betrayed him and that he could've regained all that he lost—had be been open to just behavior.
Of course, because it's Burton, this is all masked in dark eyeliner and Einstein hair, but the core of the message remains clear. And it is delivered in a charming, if not slapstick, bloody way.
Were it not for the distractions like Sacha Baron Cohen (as a cartoonish con artist) and a wimpy sailor (Jamie Campbell Bower), this would've been practically flawless.
But then again, no one can be expected to make two Edward Scissorhands in one career. Even with the same genius actor.
The story, based on the popular musical, follows barber Benjamin Barker on his journey from happy family man to vicious killer. But there's more to it than that.
Without sounding like a complete cinelitist, many people will probably see and dismiss this movie as nothing more than a typical Burtonesque display of cool effects and crazy makeup. And that's a shame—because if they dig deeper and focus not only on the visual rewards, but the heart of the characters, they'll see a more profound film.
As usual, Johnny Depp (Barker) is brilliant as the main character, wearing more expressions on his powder-pale face than any other man could possibly muster. He is darling as a charming husband and father, then equally as effective as a violent monster. Alan Rickman is also notably good as his rival, Judge Turpin. Rounding out the main cast is the always-convincingly-creepy Helena Bonham Carter as Mrs. Lovett, a terrible pie maker who falls in love with Todd and becomes his key accomplice in murder.
If we unveil the allegory, we are left with this: terrible, unforgivable things happen to a good, decent person, robbing him of his faith in all of mankind. As a result, he retreats to a place so dark that he loses every trace of the person he once was, allowing negativity to thrive in its absence. That darkness arrives in the form of a typical jealous woman who will go to great lengths to conceal truth and protect her own interests. Only when it's too late will he realize that she has betrayed him and that he could've regained all that he lost—had be been open to just behavior.
Of course, because it's Burton, this is all masked in dark eyeliner and Einstein hair, but the core of the message remains clear. And it is delivered in a charming, if not slapstick, bloody way.
Were it not for the distractions like Sacha Baron Cohen (as a cartoonish con artist) and a wimpy sailor (Jamie Campbell Bower), this would've been practically flawless.
But then again, no one can be expected to make two Edward Scissorhands in one career. Even with the same genius actor.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Eastern Promises
This morning I saw Eastern Promises, starring Naomi Watts and Viggo Mortensen.
My best advice to anyone heading out to see this: be prepared for the blood. I'm not a particular fan of gore, but for the story Cronenberg was telling, it was necessary.
A London midwife (Watts) loses a teenage mother on the operating table having known nothing about her and finds a diary the girl had written. In an effort to place the orphaned baby with the family of the deceased, she needs to have the diary translated from Russian to English. She firsts asks her uncle, but he refuses, so she goes to a restaurant that she found by way of a business card tucked into the girl's diary. There, she meets the proprietor who is perhaps too anxious to help her.
What transpires are frequent run-ins with the Russian mob and a flirtatious game of danger with the main family's "driver," who is played pitch-perfectly by Mortensen.
The film was well-paced and the story was easier to follow than many of Cronenberg's others, but without the delicious chemistry between Mortensen and Watts, it would have been just a series of violent chapters with little payoff in the end.
I liked A History of Violence better.
My best advice to anyone heading out to see this: be prepared for the blood. I'm not a particular fan of gore, but for the story Cronenberg was telling, it was necessary.
A London midwife (Watts) loses a teenage mother on the operating table having known nothing about her and finds a diary the girl had written. In an effort to place the orphaned baby with the family of the deceased, she needs to have the diary translated from Russian to English. She firsts asks her uncle, but he refuses, so she goes to a restaurant that she found by way of a business card tucked into the girl's diary. There, she meets the proprietor who is perhaps too anxious to help her.
What transpires are frequent run-ins with the Russian mob and a flirtatious game of danger with the main family's "driver," who is played pitch-perfectly by Mortensen.
The film was well-paced and the story was easier to follow than many of Cronenberg's others, but without the delicious chemistry between Mortensen and Watts, it would have been just a series of violent chapters with little payoff in the end.
I liked A History of Violence better.
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