Beauty and the Beast

On Thursday I saw Beauty and the Beast, starring Emma Watson and Luke Evans.

"There must be more than this provincial life," sings Belle (Watson) as she begins another day in her tired little French town. She, like so many, is dissatisfied with her surroundings. The books in which she escapes give her glimpses of places far more more interesting. She longs to be a part of them.

Her dad, Maurice (played by a perfectly cast Kevin Kline) is the town eccentric, and has doted on his daughter since she was born. Now, as an adult, Belle has become a feminist before her time, fending off the advances of the narcissist, Gaston (Evans) and dreaming of new possibilities.

When Maurice is taken prisoner by a ferocious beast (Dan Stevens) in a faraway castle, Belle attempts to rescue him and trades herself in his place. This is where the story truly begins.

What Belle doesn't know is that underneath the fur is a prince—one who behaved so badly a spell was cast upon him. The only way to break it is for him to fall in love and be loved in return. Conspiring to make a match between Belle and the Beast are various household fixtures like Mrs. Potts (Emma Thompson), who is now a teapot, but once was a normal woman.

It's a "tale as old as time" and one of the most beloved to say the least. As a huge fan of the animated classic, I cringed when I heard they were making this into a live action picture, but once I saw the cast I breathed a little and got over it.

I very much enjoyed this version; there is something in emotion that can't be captured in animation, so the love and romance is more effective here. Where I prefer the original is in the music.

As an actress, Emma Watson is brilliant. She's sincere, she's likable—her intelligence permeates every role she's in and Belle is no exception. But the shortcuts that were taken in her song arrangements left me wanting more. I found myself humming the ending bits that were cut off—in most cases the climactic notes of the songs.

I also felt a bit of the art direction could have been more spectacular. The sequence for "Be Our Guest" was a little too disco and starved for classy grandeur; the library that has Belle gasping at its magnificence we only see a few underwhelming frames of before the two are nose-down in books.

I will always make time for Beauty and the Beast no matter what its format. If you see this one, be sure to take in all of its strengths—Kevin Kline, Luke Evans, the chemistry between Watson and Stevens, and the clever winks amongst the household fixtures.

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Cinderella

Today I saw Cinderella, starring Lily James and Cate Blanchett.

The story of Cinderella is sewn so tightly into the fabric of our collective memories that the plot doesn't need repeating, so instead I'll just highlight the pros and cons of this live action rendition:

• I missed the music. I like a little Bibbidi-Bobbiti-Boo with my fairy Godmothering and the fact there was only a drop of song here and there was disappointing.
• I loved the cast of ladies. Lily James was convincingly sweet as the star and Blanchett equally so as the villain. Helena Bonham Carter too.
• The pace was a little slow. Knowing every step of the story going in is an obvious disadvantage, but it's exaggerated when things don't move swiftly.
• The costumes and scenery were gorgeous. I loved getting lost in that forest and dancing across that ballroom. 
• I wish there had been more of the stepsisters. Nasty as they were, they brought great comic relief to the story. But they were hardly there.
• The overall theme of kindness was well executed. The screenwriter did a beautiful job of capturing the true spirit of the fairy tale, sending the message that good people finish first.

In conclusion, the magic is there if you believe in it.

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Where the Wild Things Are

This morning I saw Where the Wild Things Are, starring Max Records and the voice of James Gandolfini.

Based on the classic children's book of the same name, I was apprehensive when I heard it was going to be turned into a live-action film—the movie is never as good as the book, and how dare Director Spike Jonze risk tarnishing one of my beloved childhood reads?

I went back and forth with those thoughts after I saw the nearly universal praise showered upon the film by many notable critics who I faithfully trust. There must be something magical about it, I assumed. They must see the spirit of the text come to life in a way they never imagined.

So I decided to give it a go and spent the majority of the film feeling guilty for getting bored and looking at my watch.

But first, the positive stuff: Max Records, a first-time actor who plays Max, absolutely embodies the essence of the child in the book. He's smart, vulnerable, sweet and angry, just as he should be. The beginning of the film is also strong—Catherine Keener as Max's mom is convincing as a haggard single parent trying to navigate a difficult job and balance raising two children on her own. We see no evidence of Dad, but realize how uncomfortable Max is when Mom has a date over for dinner. So far, so good.

The transition from Max's bedroom (where he's sent without dinner, just like the book) to the place Where the Wild Things Are is more elaborate than it needs to be and will probably scare the bejesus out of children under the age of 10 or so, but he gets there. At night. Via some terrifying (yet beautiful in the daytime) beach on the Australian coast.

Instead of "staring into their yellow eyes without blinking once" to become the Wild Things' king, he simply tells them he's their king, and they curiously accept that.

"They" are a dysfunctional family of beings that look identical to the drawings in Sendak's book, but sound like a collection of dumbed-down Hollywood actors...er...because that's where their voices come from.

And therein lies the largest problem I had with the movie: the all-too-recognizable voices.

I'm sorry, but James Gandolfini will always be Tony Soprano. And Lauren Ambrose will always be Claire from Six Feet Under. Those two especially, have such distinct speaking patterns it's hard not to picture the physical human while you're watching the mechanical animal. It's the first thing that removes you from your childhood impressions of the story.

The second is the assignment of personalities to each "thing." There's the Big Mean Man (Carol) who's driven away the Strong Independent Woman (KW), the Fighting Couple (Ira and Judith), the Outcasts (Terry and Bob), and so forth. By personifying them with stereotypical human behaviors, the splendor of the unknown is removed, leaving little hope for magic to appear.

Legend has it Maurice Sendak fashioned the "Things" after his extended family. If that's true, he was smart not to name them specifically or box them into any traits. Ambiguity is a good thing.

Another annoyance is the blatant way in which allegory is presented again and again. When Max arrives, the Things want him to "take away the sadness." A few days later, they want to build a utopia (but not allow everyone to sleep in the pile).

Such obvious lessons are fine for a children's film, but the way it's shot and shown makes it feel like it's for us adults. And if that's the case, the result is somewhat melancholy, as we know the idealism most of us have in youth fades considerably the older we get.

Jonze should be commended for the visual beauty of this film, and for discovering a great young actor who undoubtedly has a fine career ahead of him.

But the story for me shall remain where it belongs—in the pages of my well-worn copy of the book.

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