The Jungle Book

We live in a time when creativity and originality are simultaneously rewarded and stifled.  Movie studios now over-value blockbusters and the money they can make.  Smaller movies have a more difficult time succeeding because they can't compete on a financial level.  Everyone is so focused on box office results that they're forgetting how to make movies with real substance.  And some companies, including Disney, mistakenly think that the best thing to do is put out material that's already been successful, so most of the time we're getting live-action remakes of animated films, with very little original ideas.  They think it's a financially sound idea, but as far as artistry is concerned, it's extremely shallow.

Some of Disney's live-action remakes have been—to put it bluntly—wasteful.  Occasionally, though, something truly special happens, everything clicks into place, and a movie can improve on the original.  That's what I think happened with Jon Favreau's version of The Jungle Book (2016).  He and his team have taken a movie that was kind of episodic and given the story real weight.  The story now has a more natural flow, the danger seems real, and the emotions are stronger.  I always thought the original, released in 1967, was a bit boring.  This version captivated me from beginning to end.

Newcomer Neel Sethi takes on the role of Mowgli, which is more challenging than it seems.  Every interaction in the movie is between Mowgli and CGI animals.  The only real things we're seeing are Sethi and bits of set made to look like the jungle.  And the effect is seamless; the whole thing is done so well that we get caught up in the story and stop thinking about how it was made.  The CGI in this film raised the bar.

Somewhere in the wilds of India, Mowgli is an orphaned boy found by the black panther Bagheera (voice by Ben Kingsley) and taken in by a wolf pack led by Akela (voice by Giancarlo Esposito), with Raksha (voice by Lupita Nyong'o) becoming Mowgli's adoptive mother.  As a drought season sears the land, the wolf pack joins all kinds of other animals at a watering hole during a "water truce."  Mowgli's presence draws the attention of Shere Khan (voice by Idris Elba), a tiger who vows to kill the boy when the drought ends.  As the wolves debate the wisdom of allowing a human boy to remain with them, especially under threat from Shere Khan, Mowgli volunteers to leave, and Bagheera volunteers to escort him to a nearby "man-village."

The cinematography for this stretch of the movie is stunning.  We're shown breathtaking vistas and lush landscapes.  You can almost smell the locations (which, again, are mostly computer-generated creations, making the accomplishment even more impressive).  The boy and the panther are ambushed by Shere Khan and separated as Mowgli escapes with a herd of water buffalo.  Upon re-entering the jungle, Mowgli is found by Kaa (voice by Scarlet Johansson), an enormous python that hypnotizes the boy and tells him the story of how he was orphaned by none other than Shere Khan.  But before Kaa can have her way with him, Mowgli is rescued by a bear named Baloo (voice by Bill Murray).

Meanwhile, Shere Khan visits the wolf pack and kills Akela, hoping that word will reach Mowgli and cause him to return to the jungle.  In the 1967 film, Shere Khan was viewed as dangerous, but he came across as a rather stuffy English aristocrat.  In this iteration of the story, we're given a much more complex villain whose scenes are truly scary.  (This time, when characters hear the name "Shere Khan," it evokes real fear.)  Through the combination of Idris Elba's voice acting and the work of Disney animators, Khan is menacing from the start.  He doesn't want to defeat his enemies on a mere physical level but on a psychological level as well, as demonstrated by dialogue that simultaneously manipulates and denigrates.  And as the story reaches its climax, we see firsthand how physically imposing a Bengal tiger can be in a full-on display of frightening ferocity.  This Khan draws blood when he attacks.  Favreau and his team have taken an already memorable villain and elevated him to one of the greats.

Mowgli and Baloo become fast friends, with Baloo making use of Mowgli's ability to conceive of contraptions to help them acquire honey.  While Baloo's behavior is a bit manipulative, he and Mowgli genuinely enjoy their time together as they alternate between having fun, being lazy, and gathering food. Their escapades are interrupted by Bagheera, who insists that Mowgli continue with him to the man-village.  He convinces Baloo to turn Mowgli away in order to protect the boy from Shere Khan.  Just as Mowgli becomes emotionally distraught, he is kidnapped by monkeys.

The monkeys, known as the Bandar-log, take Mowgli to a mountain topped by ancient ruins.  In hot pursuit are Bagheera and Baloo, who make an amusing pair of rescuers.  Mowgli is taken before King Louie (voice by Christopher Walken), a character who did not exist in Kipling's stories.  Portrayed in other versions as an orangutan, in this version King Louie is a Gigantopithecus, and, like Shere Khan, he is more threatening than before.  He desires for Mowgli to show him how to create fire, which the animals in the story refer to as "the red flower."  (Even the use of fire in this movie carries more danger and consequence.)  Louie's similarities to a gangland mob boss are uncanny, with strong echoes of Colonel Kurtz from Apocalypse Now, and Walken's take on the character is wonderful.  (And for those who appreciate obscure pop culture references, did anybody notice the cowbell?)

And that's enough of the plot.  There are so many things worth admiring in this film, not the least of which are the voice actors, especially Kingsley, Murray, Nyong’o, Elba, Walken, and a small host of vocal cameos.  We walk away surprised at how well it all works when it could have collapsed under the weight of "living up to the original."  Did the story need to be remade?  Not necessarily, but they found a way to do it (and I'm sure glad they did!) that smoothed out the storyline and made it more convincing.  They gave us animation that is astounding and took characters we already know and love, and somehow improved them.  This time we have elephants that don't behave like silly British military stereotypes; they are presented as majestic, powerful creatures of great importance.  Those kinds of details, that pay tribute to the original and yet create an even stronger emotional resonance, are sprinkled throughout the story.

Mowgli comes to a deeper understanding of friendship and family, surrounded by animals that showcase surprisingly human sensibilities.  By the end of the movie, we've gone on a journey with the characters, encountered danger, enjoyed some laughs, sung a few songs, and learned a few lessons.  What more could you ask for?

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

When J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter books were first released, I somewhat snootily deemed the premise boring.  A British boy wizard goes to school?  Who wants to read that?  (As it turns out... everybody.)  In the Spring of 2001, when it was already an established phenomenon, I heard that they were adapting the books into films.  I happened to see a movie poster and decided to look (as I always do) at who the composer would be.  It was my hero, the most successful film composer of all time: John Williams.  And I thought, if John Williams is involved, it's got to be pretty good.  I mentioned this to my mother, who was with me at the time.  She said that she had read the books, enjoyed them, and thought that I would enjoy them as well.  Not long after that, I went to see Steven Spielberg's A.I. Artificial Intelligence in the theater—four times.  Each time I went, the trailer for Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone was included.  It looked intriguing.  So I decided to give the books a try and bought the first one.

Well.  By Chapter Four, I had a feeling that I can't really explain.  The next day I bought all the available books, somehow already sensing the enjoyment that was ahead of me.  When the movie of Sorcerer's Stone was released, I had read the first four books and knew I would be a fan for life.  My mother and I attended the movie together (we were the only members of our family who had read the books by then), and we would look at each other every time something was accurately portrayed in the movie, which was quite often.  It was one of the most thrilling screenings I'd ever been to.  And I have no real complaints about that movie.  Sure, some things were changed, which happens with all adaptations.  But, overall, I thought it was glorious, with spirited direction from Chris Columbus, a perfect cast, and a phenomenal score by John Williams, of course!

Columbus also directed the second movie outing, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.  After that, though, he decided to let someone else take over the directing duties as he took on the role of a producer.  Not only was Alfonso Cuaron brought in as the new director, but actor Richard Harris passed away and the part of Dumbledore was re-cast with Michael Gambon.  There was also a lot of (made up) controversy in the press at the time, with people speculating about the child actors aging out of their roles, if Cuaron would steer the story in a weird direction, and if Gambon could live up to Harris's portrayal of Dumbledore.

I'm pleased to see that history proved the speculation wrong.  By the eighth and final film, the lead actors were only three or four years older than their characters.  That's not much, really.  How many movies have we suffered through where actors in their mid- to late twenties are trying to play high school students?

I remember hearing people refer to Richard Harris as "the real Dumbledore."  (Evidence of snobbery.)  I think Michael Gambon did a wonderful job, capturing so many elements of the character as described in the book (minus the fancy robes), including his deep voice.  (When I read the books now, the Dumbledore in my imagination looks and sounds like a mix of the two actors.)

Something else that pleases me greatly is to note that Alfonso Cuaron's vision for the movie—along with Michael Seresin's cinematography—influenced every film in the series thereafter.  Portions of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban were shot on location in the Scottish Highlands, lending an authentic and realistic look to the surroundings.  Some viewers of the first two films were confused by this, but those films were restricted by their budgets.  The budgets for the films that followed were steadily increased.  I felt like the changes made the grounds around Hogwarts resemble the descriptions in the books even more.

Are all Harry Potter films equal?  Well . . . not quite.  As the books went on, they grew steadily thicker, which only increased the challenges of adapting them to film.  Indeed, by the time they made Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, the filmmakers wisely decided to split it into two movies to do justice to the book.  And as the movies went on, the amount of material cut from the films increased.  Frustrating, yes, but ultimately necessary.  I despair of people who still complain about this, acting as if the movies have somehow "ruined" the books.  I think of the movies as companion pieces to the books, not as replacements.  Everything we've loved about the books is still there to be enjoyed and treasured.  Yet movies have a completely different sense of pacing and momentum and narrative.  I would argue that there is a difference between "being true" to the books and merely depicting what's in them.  Just by the sheer difference of the nature of the two storytelling forms, there must be changes.  Sometimes they work, and sometimes they don't (we'll discuss this later).

It so happens that Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (2004) is my favorite of the Harry Potter films.  The look and feel seemed to hew even closer to the books, and we delved deeper into an already well-established film universe.  It's not a perfect adaptation, and I have a few quibbles that I will mention, but by this point in the series, it finally felt like we'd really landed in the world of Harry Potter (no offense to Chris Columbus, who did an excellent job of setting things up and getting them rolling).  Naturally, the films began to take on a darker tone as they went, exactly like the books, which mirror how our outlook on life can change as we grow older.  By the time we got to Deathly Hallows, Harry's view of things had changed an awful lot compared to the near-constant sense of wonder in Sorcerer's Stone.  (And for the record, yes, the fact that they changed the title for American audiences bugs me.)

In this story, we meet several new characters and creatures.  The first is Aunt Marge (Pam Ferris), sister of Harry's dreadful Uncle Vernon (Richard Griffiths), who learns the hard way not to mess with a teenage wizard.  We then follow Harry (Daniel Radcliffe) on a humorously harrowing journey to London on the Knight Bus, a fantastical purple triple-decker that transports him to the Leaky Cauldron, where he is intercepted by the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge (Robert Hardy).  By now, Harry has learned of the escape of Sirius Black (Gary Oldman) from Azkaban Prison.  On the train ride to Hogwarts, Harry and his friends Ron Weasley (Rupert Grint) and Hermione Granger (Emma Watson) have an encounter with a dementor, one of the spectral guards of Azkaban, as it searches for Sirius Black.  Luckily for the kids, Professor Remus Lupin (David Thewlis), the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts, is on hand to shoo the dementor away.  Once they reach the school, headmaster Dumbledore (Michael Gambon) informs the students that the grounds will be patrolled by dementors as they search for Sirius Black.  (I've lost count of how many times we hear the name "Sirius Black" mentioned in the film, usually with an urgency bordering on hysteria.)  We also meet Professor Trelawney (Emma Thompson), who specializes in the art of Divination (which, for any Muggles out there, is the ability to foretell the future).

A new creature encountered this time is Buckbeak the Hippogriff (sort of a bird and horse combination), used in a Care of Magical Creatures lesson by the newly dubbed Professor Hagrid (Robbie Coltrane).  The scene reaches a climax with Harry taking a flight on Buckbeak's back around the castle and grounds.  This is one of my favorite scenes in all the Harry Potter movies.  Buckbeak looks even better than I had imagined, and the scene gives way to stunning visuals, accompanied by a powerful musical theme composed by John Williams.  The scene is a little different than the one in the book, yet it is a perfect demonstration of movie magic, showcasing the differences in storytelling between books and film.  (This is not an argument for one over the other; I love them both, but this is a blog mostly about movies.)

There are many familiar faces this time around, as well.  Not only the crummy Dursley family, but Professor McGonagall (Maggie Smith), Professor Flitwick (Warwick Davis), Draco Malfoy (Tom Felton) and his cronies, and, of course, Professor Snape (Alan Rickman).  Watch the way Rickman enters a classroom and instantly commands attention.  This film features Snape a little more than the others, and it is consistently rewarding.

We are also taken to Hogsmeade, a nearby village housing only witches and wizards, and introduced to the Marauder's Map, given to Harry by the Weasley twins (James and Oliver Phelps), which is not only a map of Hogwarts and the grounds, but shows the real-time location of everybody within the boundaries of the map.  Harry's use of the map leads to a scene of delicious tension—and a little humor—as he searches for one particular individual.

A critical part of the story revolves around Harry's parents, their friendships with Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew, and a portion of the truth about why they were attacked by the evil Lord Voldemort (who doesn't even feature in this story beyond the mention of his name—which shall not be named, etc.).  Because of their shared history, Harry and Professor Lupin have an instant connection, and Lupin agrees to teach Harry how to use the Patronus charm to repel dementors.  However, we actually learn very little about Lupin until critical scenes later in the movie.

The plot of this third Harry Potter story is more complex than the first two in a way that I find highly satisfying.  As Harry's view of his world changes, so, too, do the stories expand in scope and depth.  Rowling does an expert job of introducing the wizarding world a bit at a time early on, before dropping us into the deep end in later stories.  I can't remember having as much fun reading a book as I did the first time I read about Harry Potter.

I mentioned that I had a few quibbles.  They contain spoilers for any poor souls who haven't seen the movie yet (which is now 20 years old!).  My main quibble has to do with information left out of the film, making it impossible for an audience member who hasn't read the books to understand certain moments and details.  For instance, just how did Sirius Black escape from Azkaban?  How do Lupin and Sirius even know about the Marauder's Map?  Who are Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs?  How and why did Sirius become an animagus?  Why does Harry's Patronus take the form of a stag?  And it feels like too much is left unexplained about Peter Pettigrew.  Just when we should be learning how it all ties together, we spend a little too long on werewolf scenes.

These quibbles bother me a little, but they're not deal-breakers.  I still love the film (and, like I said before, the books are still there to fill in all the details).  Alfonso Cuaron and his team gave the look of Harry Potter's world, and even the magic within it, a more "realistic" look than ever before, which also contributes to a sense of real danger.  So many things are done extremely well, including Buckbeak, the Whomping Willow, and the use of a Time-Turner.  The handling of time travel in this film is exceptional.

A few years ago, I took my parents with me to see the Utah Symphony perform Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban as part of the "Harry Potter Film Concert Series."  At these concerts, the orchestra performs the score as the film is playing.  This gives film music geeks, like me, a priceless opportunity to see exactly how a film score is structured and utilized.  During the film, the audience applauded when favorite actors first appeared on screen (especially for Alan Rickman, who had recently died), but they also applauded at the end of most of the music cues, just as you would in a traditional concert.  There were several moments when it felt like they burst into spontaneous applause because the score itself prompted it.  (That also speaks to the genius of John Williams, who, sadly, left the Harry Potter franchise after this film.  Although other composers were involved and did a fine job, Williams's original themes live on with their unique power to conjure fond memories of the wizarding world.)  And, of course, the biggest applause was during John Williams's credit at the end of the movie.

I was able to return to see the Utah Symphony perform two of the Star Wars films.  I've been a lifelong Star Wars fan, and I've been a member of some super-enthusiastic Star Wars audiences, but there was something different—something special—about that audience at Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.  There were lots of kids (and some adults) in Hogwarts robes, lots of people wearing Gryffindor scarves, and less of the "fanboy" vibe you often get at Star Wars events.  The audience was united in a different way, a more magical way, that I have difficulty describing.  It all added up to one of the most stunning cinematic experiences I've ever had.

The stories of Harry Potter and Star Wars, at least in my view, both fall into the category of fantasy.  (Star Wars contains many fantasy elements, and the setting alone—in a galaxy far, far away—prevents it from qualifying as strictly science fiction, which is usually based on stories and/or characters that originated on Earth.)  Both franchises project traditional good/heroic values, although I've always felt that Harry Potter is much closer to reality, with even deeper meaning and more complexity.  And I'm not saying this to rank one over the other, only to note the differences in their respective fandoms (which, with me as Exhibit A, feature a lot of overlap).  Most kids instantly like Star Wars because it's cool.  Most kids who love Harry Potter, though, have more of an emotionally complex connection.

I have a friend who didn't want her kids to read the Harry Potter books because she thought they were about witchcraft.  That's like saying that Finding Nemo is all about swimming.  It's a feature of the story but not the focus.  The stories are about family and friendship, loyalty, compassion, telling the truth, doing the right thing in the face of adversity, increasing our knowledge through learning, keeping an open mind, dealing with a painful past, fighting to overcome evil, the joys and sorrows of teenage romance, standing up to bullies, and so much more.

I will always love Harry Potter.  The feeling I got when I was reading the first book has never disappeared.  I can’t predict the future, and yet, somehow, I knew all those years ago that I had begun an extraordinary, magical journey that could last my whole life.  I love the books and films in almost equal measure.  And I treasure this quote from J.K. Rowling: "Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home."

Knowing

Alex Proyas's Knowing (2009) is a divisive film, to say the least.  I think it adds to its fascination, but many people didn't agree when it was first released.  I also greatly admire the film's ambivalence, the way it intentionally walks the line between science and religion.  It raises several questions, possibilities, theories, etc., without providing any concrete answers.  I happen to like that.  Most audience members nowadays, unfortunately, can't handle that kind of storytelling.  Many moviegoers want to settle down, switch off their brains, and let the entertainment wash over them with minimal effort.  They want stories that are black and white, and seem to be uncomfortable with any gray area.  And heaven forbid the filmmakers leave anything unanswered.

I can't fault people for seeking out that kind of entertainment, yet I like it when a movie engages my brain.  (And Knowing doesn't ask us to work as hard as, say, Christopher Nolan's Inception or Tenet.)  I love it when a movie prompts discussion with the ideas and concepts raised by the story.  The movies I enjoy most are the ones that spark interesting conversations.  That's what most good science fiction stories do.  They usually present ideas in a way that sometimes make us reconsider how we view the world around us.

I know I'm probably in the minority of people who praise Knowing as a great science fiction movie.  I found it thrilling and was even more thrilled to discover that Roger Ebert gave it four out of four stars.  At least I'm in good company.  In addition to his review of the film, Ebert wrote two blog entries about it.  He wrote, "All of my considerations are probably irrelevant to enjoyment of the film.  But the film inspired me to think in these ways, and not many films do."

This could be a good starting point for me to debate the merits of the film, but I won't do that.  All I can do is say that it worked for me, and I'll do my best to explain why.

The story begins in a 1950s New England classroom with a girl named Lucinda Embry (Lara Robinson).  The students of Dawes Elementary are asked to draw pictures to place in a time capsule which will be opened in 50 years.  Lucinda doesn't draw a picture but writes down row upon row of numbers.  Her pages of numbers, once removed from the time capsule in the present day, end up in the hands of Caleb Koestler (Chandler Canterbury), son of John Koestler (Nicolas Cage), an MIT astrophysics professor.

Koestler at first thinks the numbers are nonsense.  Upon closer inspection and with the help of the internet, he is unsettled to find that the numbers coincide with the dates of major events/accidents from the last 50 years that resulted in multiple deaths.  Cage does a good job playing a man who is a scientist first and doesn't believe in supernatural hooey.  Yet scientific curiosity drives him to find out what's going on, propelling him (and us) through the story.  He instinctively wants to reject what seems like mere coincidence, but the specificity of the numbers tied to real events compels him to question everything he knows.  The most disturbing realization is that three of the events predicted by the numbers haven't happened yet.

In an early scene, Professor Koestler poses a question to his students, asking whether the universe is random or deterministic.  When a student asks what Koestler believes, he replies, "I think s*** just happens."  Until Lucinda's numbers shake up his world, that is.  He determines that the numbers indicate event dates and the number of deaths, but at first can't account for other numbers in the sequence.  He finds out, in a scene of powerful trauma, that the other numbers represent the longitude and latitude coordinates—when a plane crashes next to the highway where Koestler sits in a long line of unmoving traffic.  Koestler runs toward the wreckage, hoping to save lives, only to discover there isn't much he can do before emergency personnel arrive.  The scene takes place in one continuous shot, the first of several spectacular moments in the film.

Koestler's cosmologist colleague, Beckman (Ben Mendelsohn), cautions against the dangers of numerology, which is the study of finding significance in numbers.  Just the fact that this argument is made in a film like this makes it slightly smarter than average.  Too many films in this genre don't even try to rationally explain anything, much less bring up plausible counterarguments.  Not that there is much in this movie that counts as realism, but it could be argued that the behavior of the characters is reasonably plausible within the bounds of the story.

As he tries to get to the bottom of things, Koestler tracks down Lucinda's daughter, Diana (Rose Byrne), and granddaughter, Abby (Lara Robinson again).  Everything Koestler knows as a scientist tells him that Lucinda's ability to predict things in this manner should be impossible, but he just has to know for sure.  At first Diana is angered by his questions, insisting that her mother was a disturbed woman.  After John tries and fails to prevent a horrible subway crash, Diana is forced to agree that he may be right and reveals that she and Abby are being followed by the same mysterious figures that Caleb has seen (simply credited as the Strangers).

(Major spoilers from here.)  John and Diana visit the home of her deceased mother, only to discover that the numbers predict the end of the world.  And once John confirms that Earth will be decimated by a massive solar flare, the movie nearly sprints to the end.  Once they discover that the Strangers (whom the kids call "the whisper people") can speak in a way that can only be heard by Caleb and Abby, it quickly becomes the goal of the adults to try to get to safety.

As Koestler obsessively tracks down the final numerical prediction left behind by Lucinda, which he believes are coordinates that will lead them to safety, Diana flees with the children.  Her behavior is frustrating (and has fatal results), yet it seems to reflect the behavior of any panicked parent.  Why does she stop listening to Koestler's warnings?  Because, as Proyas says in the director's commentary track, things haven't added up for her the way they have for John.  Her behavior is dictated by her circumstances, which is the best you can hope for with any fictional character.  Proyas also points out in his commentary that she is unintentionally taking away the children's agency.  (More on that in a minute.)

When Koestler follows the coordinates and finds the children safe with the Strangers, we're finally ready for an ending chock-full of stunning visuals.  A massive vessel (starship?) appears, and the Strangers reveal their true selves as translucent/luminescent beings, the likes of which we've never seen before.  They wish to take Caleb and Abby with them, but it must be by choice.  While Caleb is understandably upset at the thought of leaving his father behind, John realizes that this is the only way to guarantee his son's safety and urges him to go.  As the children leave with the Strangers, we see numerous vessels leaving the planet.

After John drives to the home of his parents to share a final embrace, the story goes all the way to its logical conclusion and the movie lets rip with what Robert Ebert described as "merciless" special effects.  Cities are obliterated, oceans evaporated, and our world is scorched beyond recognition.  Elsewhere, Caleb and Abby are deposited on a plain of curious long grass on some distant planet.  The movie ends with a shot of them making their way toward a large tree (a new Garden of Eden, perhaps?).

So, let's discuss a few matters.

I have a friend who said he enjoyed the film "until the aliens showed up."  Are the Strangers aliens?  Observant viewers have pointed out that when the Strangers reveal their true form, they appear to have angel-like wings made of light.  Director Alex Proyas also points out in his commentary that the Strangers' vessel, if it had arrived in the time of Ezekiel in the Bible, would have probably been seen as something sent by God.  The vessel seems to match the description of such a thing in the Book of Ezekiel (with its "wheels within wheels").

The director is deliberately walking a line here.  In interviews, Proyas has refused to state if the film leans one way or the other.  The separation between religion and science is dramatically reflected in the relationship between John Koestler (a hardline scientist) and his father (a pastor).  Something in their past has caused them to be estranged, yet John's recent experiences have changed his understanding and by the end the two men have reached some sort of unspoken reconciliation.  Does this mean that Koestler is embracing his religious upbringing?  Not necessarily.  The film's ending could be read differently depending on where you stand on these issues.

On a personal level, I have always thought that science and religion go hand in hand and have never understood society's need to argue that one invalidates the other.  But that's just me.

Roger Ebert correctly pointed out in one of his blog entries: "The professor offered a false choice to his class.  No one thinks the universe is random, except possibly at a quantum level, and let's not go there.  Gravity doesn't randomly switch off.  Light doesn't randomly alter its speed.  The classical philosophical choice is between determinism and free will.  Is the future already predestined, or do we have a role in the outcome?  ...Strict determinism implies an absence of free will, and free will is a necessary component of all spiritual belief systems."

This illuminates a few intriguing details.  Proyas points out in his commentary that the Strangers aren't going around kidnapping anybody.  Only when Diana takes away the agency of the children do the Strangers step in.  The children must choose to leave, they aren't being abducted.  It's interesting to watch Koestler think this through and help Caleb come to what he thinks is the right decision.  And in the end, Caleb and Abby are . . . saved.  (Is it significant, when we see them in the final shot, that they are dressed in white?)

Maybe a lot of audience members didn't like the ambiguity and expected the story to have a clearer distinction between science and religion, especially regarding the ending of the movie.  I wasn't bothered in the least.  Does it leave things unanswered?  It absolutely does, but the questions it inspires opens the door for some fascinating conversation.  To be fair, I've seen other movies that left too many things unanswered and felt like the filmmakers were jerking my chain.  I didn't feel that way with Knowing.  All art is subjective, and this film intentionally leaves it up to the viewer to wonder about the ending.  Debates about the story could be endless, which, for me, only enriches the experience.

I haven't even mentioned all the other factors that help make this movie great.  I think the acting is brilliant, the cinematography is top notch, and Marco Beltrami's score is exceptional.  I had a great time seeing this film in the theater and have loved it ever since.  While I can't convince someone else to love it like I do, I make no apologies for my taste in movies.

Skyfall

So far, Skyfall is the most successful James Bond film ever. It's the second-highest grossing UK film in history and is among the highest-grossing films of all time. It's been praised left and right, winning awards and accolades and widespread critical acclaim. I like to think of it as one of the most stylish Bond films, as well. Between Sam Mendes's direction and Roger Deakins's cinematography, this film is beautiful just to look at.

I thought Casino Royale—the film that rebooted the franchise with Daniel Craig as Bond—was fantastic. Loved it. The next film, Quantum of Solace, not so much. It was a near miss. Then along came Skyfall. Roger Ebert said, "I don't know what I expected in Bond No. 23, but certainly not an experience this invigorating."

The story begins, as it usually does, already in progress. Bond is on a mission to retrieve a computer hard drive that contains a list of undercover agents, the exposure of which could leave MI6 vulnerable. The chase begins in Istanbul, with Bond pursuing Patrice (Ola Rapace), the man who has stolen the list. What starts out as a car chase becomes a rooftop pursuit via motorcycle, and eventually transitions to the roof of a train. The mission is being monitored in real time by M (Judi Dench, excellent as always), who must make a critical snap decision which inadvertently leads to Bond getting shot. Is it a spoiler to reveal that Bond doesn't die? It's been twelve years since Skyfall was released and Craig has played the character in two more films.

(I have to mention the opening title sequence. Not only is it wonderfully evocative of the story as a whole, but it also features one of the best Bond title songs ever, performed by the incomparable Adele. It's the first song from a Bond film to win the Academy Award for Best Song. Well-deserved, if you ask me.)

While Bond lays low, allowing the world at large to think he's dead, M is warned by her new boss, Gareth Mallory (Ralph Fiennes), that she and MI6 will have to answer for the list that was lost during her watch. An explosion at MI6 soon after makes it clear that whoever has the list is a serious threat and seems to be targeting M.

Once he gets wind of the explosion, Bond returns to London. Because he's been presumed dead for three months, M informs him that he'll have to retake the tests to hang on to his double-O status. During this stretch of the story, not only do we delve a little deeper into the relationship between Bond and M (which is really the core of the movie), we also meet the new Q (Ben Whishaw), appearing for the first time in this newer run of Bond films. As befits our technological age, Q is something of a computer whiz. Indeed, a look around the "new" MI6, especially the "Q branch," reveals people tapping away at computer keyboards in a space dotted with digital screens.

After Bond is declared ready for active service, he zips off to Shanghai to find Patrice. They end up having one of the most interesting fights I've ever seen, from a cinematic point of view. Most of the fight appears to be in one take, in silhouette, against a backdrop of giant glowing digital jellyfish on the adjacent skyscraper. Patrice doesn't reveal any information, but Bond finds a clue and heads to a casino in Macau.

At the casino, Bond meets the silky Severine (Berenice Marlohe), who agrees to take Bond to meet her employer. Only later do we realize how effectively the villain has been established mostly through dialogue, especially Severine's description (or non-description) of him. It's her behavior that gives us a sense of dread, building up to the appearance of an antagonist we haven't even seen for nearly half the movie.

When Bond finally meets Silva (Javier Bardem), we get one of the great movie entrances. Silva is given an eerie introductory speech (written by John Logan), all delivered in a single shot as he slowly walks toward the camera. He will eventually reveal more layers, yet we already see him as a twisted, frightening, memorable villain.

I find that I don't want to describe much more of the plot. The unfolding of the story is part of the fun of watching Skyfall. But there are other elements worth highlighting.

I love that Mendes and the writers made the choice to go old-school. They are correct to point out that having clever gadgets in a Bond film becomes increasingly difficult when everybody in the audience has an equally amazing device in their pockets. How does one compete? By going back to the basics. I found this to be an incredibly satisfying approach. For those who would argue otherwise, do they want a James Bond film that appears to be set in our world, or are they hoping it'll turn into science fiction? (It sometimes sort of does, anyway.)

As an audience member, the ending of the film raises the question: How do you replace Judi Dench? Well, you can't, but you cast as bloody good an actor as you can. Since her first appearance as M, Dame Judi appeared in Bond films over a period of 20 years. As I mentioned before, her relationship to Daniel Craig's Bond is really at the heart of these films. She is unforgettable, one of the best actors in the world.

The reveals of the new Q and the new Miss Moneypenny made me smile. I thought they were done rather well. But the reveal of Bond's Aston Martin actually made my eyes wet. I'm not much of a car guy, but the reveal of the car, accompanied by the original Monty Norman theme, creates an awesome, nostalgic moment.

Speaking of music, Thomas Newman's score for this movie is incredible. After leaving the movie theater, I went and bought my first soundtrack of a James Bond film. Newman had not been known for action films, but he proved to be supremely adept at it, modulating pace and energy at all the right times, and making good use of the old Bond themes in all kinds of places in the score.

There are other appearances in the movie that I haven't mentioned, all of which add wonderful character moments to the story and help deepen Bond's backstory. (We never learn very much—just enough to keep us intrigued.) Quantum of Solace had moments that worked, but not nearly as many as Casino Royale. With Skyfall we're back on track, and it's nice to see Bond in another movie that fires on all cylinders.

And then there's Daniel Craig. I refuse to debate who is the "best" James Bond, but Craig is my favorite. Each actor who has played the role has brought a different sensibility to it and highlighted different aspects of the character. Craig's take on the character clicked with me better than any other, that's all. Best of all, he plays Bond as a real human, with real emotions and physical limitations, not as a robot or superhero. I can't relate much to 007, the secret agent, although I can relate, even just a little, to James Bond the man. And that leaves me, maybe not shaken, but definitely stirred. (Forgive me; I had to do it.)

That Thing You Do!

That Thing You Do! (1996) is about as much fun as you can have at the movies.  The story encompasses the struggles of being in a rock-and-roll band, the highs and lows of fame, the realities of touring and the music industry, and even the bittersweet aftermath of the band's breakup.  All is handled with a lighthearted yet confident touch by writer/director Tom Hanks, adding up to a movie bursting with the joy of music.

There are other great movies about these subjects, much grittier movies, many based on true stories.  They have their value, but they're not nearly as fun as what is being presented here.  And although the story being told is about a fictional band, Hanks hits a lot of realistic notes along the way.

The story begins in 1964.  The Beatles (almost the only real-life musicians named in the movie) have recently appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show, rock music is taking the world by storm, and the music industry is exploding.  Meanwhile, Guy Patterson (Tom Everett Scott), an aspiring drummer, is working in his father's appliance store in Erie, Pennsylvania.  When the drummer for a local band breaks his arm and can't play for an upcoming talent show, Guy gets recruited at the last minute and the rest is fake history.

The band, originally called the "One-ders" (which nobody pronounces correctly), is led by singer/songwriter Jimmy (Johnathon Schaech), with Lenny (Steve Zahn, very funny) on lead guitar, Ethan Embry as the bass player (check his name in the credits), and Liv Tyler as Faye, Jimmy's girlfriend.  They convene in Jimmy's garage to practice his latest song.  The song "That Thing You Do!" was written in real life by Adam Schlesinger, and it would be easy to call it a classic.  We hear the song maybe only eight times during the movie (it seems like more), yet it never really gets old.

The talent show features an amusing parade of styles that were popular at the time.  (Credit should go to Hanks and his music team.  Not one song sounds out of place, which is amazing considering that none of the songs in the movie are authentic to the time.)  When the boys play their song, Guy's nerves get the best of him, and he plays the song much faster than planned.  Jimmy is frustrated by this, but the crowd goes wild and the boys win the competition.  As a result, they're invited to perform as the house band in a local pizza joint.  In an effort to appease their small but growing fanbase, they record "That Thing You Do!" and sell copies around town.

A man named Phil Horace (Chris Ellis) hears the boys play, buys their record, and offers to become their manager.  He promises to get "That Thing You Do!" played on the radio, and to get the band booked into big-time rock-and-roll shows.  Phil keeps his promise, which pays off in one of the movie's best scenes when the kids hear their song on the radio.  It's almost impossible not to be caught up in the excitement.  Tom Hanks and his team have succeeded in capturing the exhilaration of a specific time and place, making it feel as if it's happening right now, and we, the audience, get swept along.  (To watch the scene now forces us to acknowledge the bitter reality that this kind of thing probably couldn't happen nowadays.  Thanks to the internet—among other things—the landscape of music, radio, and records has completely changed.)

Not only does Phil get the boys' song played on the radio, he also books them a performance in Pittsburgh and draws the attention of Mr. White (Tom Hanks).  White becomes the manager of "The Wonders" and the boys sign a contract with Play-Tone Records.  Soon they are whisked away on a whirlwind tour of state fairs, performing with some of their favorite artists.

By now Mr. White has succeeded in giving The Wonders greater exposure through radio play and live performances (as we see their song climb the Billboard charts), and he has also managed their image, dressing them in matching suits and giving Guy a pair of sunglasses.  After some time spent touring, the boys are flown to California to appear in a movie, meet the head of Play-Tone Records, and perform on the Hollywood Television Showcase.

In those days, performing on television probably felt like the peak of fame.  Even the boys' family and friends, who were initially skeptical (if not downright unsupportive), are thrilled beyond measure to see The Wonders on the tube.  We've also reached the point in the story when the pressures of fame will test the mettle of the band members, and we'll see who really has what it takes to be a lifelong musician, and who's willing to leave it behind.

We've seen Jimmy's frustration grow throughout the movie, as his desire to write and record more songs has been pushed aside in the name of touring and marketing.  Everything comes to a head on the television showcase when an onscreen caption mistakenly says, "Careful, girls—he’s engaged!"  In response to Jimmy's egotistical fury, Faye breaks up with him.  (Tom Hanks's line in this scene is one of my favorites.)

When the band is scheduled for time in an actual recording studio, everything finally falls apart.  The bass player, having already been replaced for the showcase, has gone missing (he enlisted in the Marines, anyway), Lenny has disappeared to Las Vegas to get married, and Jimmy decides he doesn't want to do things Mr. White's way and quits.

The scenes that follow are some of the best in the movie.  Mr. White, an experienced professional, takes it all in stride and even comments on the common story of one hit wonders.  Guy is left alone in the studio, where he bumps into his hero, Del Paxton (Bill Cobbs). Not only do they play together, but Paxton gives Guy some sound advice, the kind that can set a person on the right path for the rest of his life.

By the end, putting aside all the band breakup meshugas, Guy and Faye finally connect. We've seen the spark between them throughout the movie and observed Mr. White observing the same. We knew it was only a matter of time before Faye would see Jimmy for what he was and realize that she and Guy are perfect for each other. It gives the final scene a sweet—but not overdone—romantic lift.

I haven't even mentioned all the cameos, all the quotable lines of dialogue, and all of the references to The Beatles (the more you know about them, the more you will notice). If you watch the behind-the-scenes features, you'll hear Tom Hanks outlining a great many "backstory" details, and you'll realize just how thoroughly he has created the world of this story. Few movies feel this good or remember a time with such fondness. If you want to be entertained by a lighthearted story that's a lot of fun and doesn't require heavy lifting but has plenty of humor and loads of good music, this is the movie for you.

The Iron Giant

It's an unfortunate reality that the quality of a movie doesn't always translate into box office success. There are a number of movies that were box office failures, and yet they are regularly included on lists of the greatest movies of all time. These include Citizen Kane, It's a Wonderful Life, and The Shawshank Redemption.

Another factor in box office success seems to rely on marketing. Plenty of good movies have suffered at the box office due to poor—or a lack of—marketing. Brad Bird's The Iron Giant (1999) is a prime example of this. The executives at Warner Bros. didn't seem to have any idea what a treasure they had on their hands, and not only did they delay announcing a release date, they neglected to prepare a proper marketing campaign, and the marketing they did was sort of terrible.

Time has been kind to The Iron Giant, though. Even though it wasn't as widely seen in theaters as it should have been, it became a cult classic on home video, and now is regarded as one of the best animated films ever produced.

In the summer of 1999, I went with a friend to a drive-in feature of Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace without realizing it was a double feature. The first movie, which I had barely heard about, was The Iron Giant. I had been—and still am—a lifelong Star Wars fan, but the movie that made a greater impact on my heart and memory was this random animated film about a young boy and his friendship with a giant robot.

Director Brad Bird and his animation team had so many things working against them during the production of this movie. They were a ragtag bunch, smaller than other "established" animation studios, and they were given approximately half the time normally allowed for a project of this scale and ambition. Members of that team have been open about the challenge of working under Bird, who they will admit is a driven, opinionated, visionary leader. But history has shown that—no matter the seemingly insurmountable demands—they got it right. They nailed it. They created a classic. And the film was critically acclaimed, no thanks to the geniuses in the Warner Bros. marketing and advertising departments.

Watching The Iron Giant again recently, I was struck by how timeless it feels. It takes place in 1957, yet somehow feels contemporary without ignoring the realities and sensibilities of the time period. The characters have enough sophistication to easily fit within a modern story, but 1957 was definitely a more innocent time. Although there are elements to the story that reflect things that were happening in the world when the movie was released (and are happening even now), that seems to be more evidence that history repeats itself. Things sometimes happen in cycles.

The movie opens in the fictional coastal town of Rockwell, Maine, where Hogarth Hughes (voice by Eli Marienthal) lives with his mother (voice by Jennifer Aniston). Fueled by rumors and mysterious sightings, Hogarth goes searching the woods for a giant robot, which he finds and ends up saving from electrocution. The giant (voice by Vin Diesel) then begins to follow Hogarth around like a puppy, and the boy takes it upon himself to educate the giant in all kinds of subjects. One of the best scenes involves Hogarth explaining what it means to have a soul.

When Hogarth needs to hide his new friend, he enlists the help of Dean (voice by Harry Connick Jr.), the beatnik who runs the local scrapyard and makes art out of junk. Dean turns out to be helpful in all kinds of ways, even supplying the dialogue that becomes the theme of the movie ("You are who you choose to be"). He "[stands] up for the kooks," but he also becomes a valuable ally to not just Hogarth, but to the giant and Hogarth's mom. He's not just the cool dude in the shades, he's a fully rounded character.

One of the most charming elements of the giant (and, really, all of the characters) is the body language created by the animators. For a character who is struggling to understand and learning to speak English, he wins our sympathy time and again throughout the story. He's a quick learner, curious and enthusiastic, and instinctively protective of Hogarth. Eventually it’s revealed that the giant has hidden abilities and equipment that could qualify him as a weapon of mass destruction. Part of the payoff for his character is what he chooses to do once he (sort of) discovers his intended purpose. For me, he's right up there with the best movie robots, including C-3PO and R2-D2 (and other assorted droids from Star Wars), WALL-E and EVE, the robots from Interstellar, and Data from Star Trek.

As any experienced moviegoer will know, where giant creatures tread, paranoid and ignorant reactionists will follow. In response to the rumors and sightings in the town, the government sends Kent Mansley (voice by Christopher McDonald) to get to the bottom of things. Mansley is exactly the kind of person you don't want to look out for the public welfare. His assumptions and tendency to panic bring things to the attention of General Rogard (voice by John Mahoney), who is more reasonable yet still ends up being duped by the conniving Mansley. I'm not sure that Brad Bird is using Mansley to tell us that all government is bad, especially when there is the more level-headed example of Rogard, but he's definitely pointing a finger at people who react without making any effort to understand, and twist the truth to accomplish their goals. The people who use the guise of good to do bad things are usually very effective movie villains, easy to dislike, and Kent Mansley fits that bill. Don't get me wrong, he's also entertaining. His character contributes to some of the movie's funniest moments. But his knee-jerk reactions unnecessarily escalate things to dangerous levels.

The movie clips along at an impressive pace, lasting less than 90 minutes, but it does so without feeling rushed. It's kind of amazing to think back over the story and realize how much happens, and how the friendship between Hogarth and the giant is given a full arc, where little things that take place between them early on are powerfully paid off by the end. By then we’ve laughed and cried and been taken along on a great adventure. Everything, from the voice actors to the writing, to the animation and art direction, to Michael Kamen’s score, combines to make a fun and moving and memorable experience.

Roger Ebert once wrote, "...I never cry during sad moments in the movies, only during moments of goodness." That is also true for me, usually, and, because of that, The Iron Giant is a doozy. Hogarth's attempts to teach the giant are so straightforward and funny, it's easy to overlook how sweet it really is. Some of it's funny because Hogarth is so young, and his understanding of the world is only so deep. But he's achingly sincere, and the giant takes it all in, trusting this young boy so completely that we can't help but be touched by the purity of their friendship.

The story is based on the 1968 novel "The Iron Man" by Ted Hughes, but Brad Bird also connected it to the experience of losing his sister to gun violence. This inspired him to ask, in regard to the giant, "What if a gun had a soul?" This fed into what might be the main theme of the entire movie, which is about making choices, not only in what we do but about who we are.

Choosing who you are as a person is a seminal part of our collective development, a choice that some people somehow never make, which is heartbreaking. Maybe they're afraid of judgment from their families, or peers, or society. Maybe they haven't found a way to express themselves and have lacked the proper experiences or support system to do so. Maybe they don't know how to choose.

One of my favorite elements of The Iron Giant is how Hogarth introduces the giant to the concept of good guys and bad guys, simplifying things the way a comic-book-reading boy his age would. He gives the giant a truly awesome good guy to emulate: Superman! And the scenes of the nearly indestructible giant mimicking the Man of Steel . . . well, it gets me every time. When it comes down to it, though, I think he's really trying to be like Hogarth, the boy with crooked teeth and a quirky sense of humor, the boy who knows right from wrong, who befriends people out of an innate sense of kindness, and who likes to stay up and watch scary movies until he's scared silly. The boy who saved his robot friend . . . in more ways than one. And was saved by that friend in turn.

Searching for Bobby Fischer

Searching for Bobby Fischer (1993) appears on its surface to be a film about chess. But it's about so much more than that. Chess is merely the vehicle that transports us through a story full of characters who teach us a lot about human nature. That is probably not the most invigorating description, but this movie is surprisingly involving and enlightening in ways that can appeal to almost anybody.

The film, adapted from a true story, was written and directed by Steve Zaillian (who won acclaim within the same year for his adapted screenplay for Schindler's List). It tells the story of young Josh Waitzkin (Max Pomeranc), who has just turned seven years old. One day he watches men in the park play chess and instinctively figures out how to play the game. The first time he sees them playing he is captivated, as if a switch inside of him has been suddenly flipped on.

Josh's parents, played by Joe Mantegna and Joan Allen, are surprised to learn that their son, who has never played chess before, somehow knows how to play. One of the most amusing sequences in the movie is when Josh plays against his father. He throws the first game, because, as his mother intuits, "he doesn't want to beat his daddy." (She intuits a lot of things that her husband doesn't see, as most mothers do.) The second game between father and son goes on much longer, and the father slowly begins to realize that his son may be a prodigy.

Mr. Waitzkin tracks down Bruce Pandolfini (Ben Kingsley) and asks him to teach his son. Pandolfini's theories of play and absolute dedication to chess give him a certain degree of social awkwardness, yet we can usually understand his intentions. His teaching method in the film is simplified as being more about strategy, which is intentionally different from what Josh has been learning in the park from people like Vinnie (Laurence Fishburne), who play fast games using unconventional moves designed to intimidate their opponents. Part of what makes the film fascinating is how we in the audience can see value in the styles of both mentors, and how Josh processes what he's learned from them and how it affects the way he plays chess.

At this point, I'd like to point out how this movie looks. Considering that Steve Zaillian is often hired as a screenwriter, it would be easy to assume that any film he directs would be mostly dependent on dialogue. But that is not the case here, and also in another Zaillian-directed adaptation, A Civil Action. A surprising amount of what we learn about the characters in this story is conveyed visually, and not in camera moves or editing, but in quiet looks and reactions by the actors. Zaillian shows himself to be a master of non-verbal storytelling. This is helped immensely by the cinematography of the great Conrad Hall. There are not many "fancy" shots in this picture, and yet it's a beautiful film to look at.

The movie is not really about Bobby Fischer at all, but his shadow hangs over everything. He proved himself a brilliant chess player, possibly the best of all time. When he wasn't displaying his difficult personality and controversial views, he was a recluse. There are black-and-white sequences through the film that show footage of Fischer, narrated by Josh. Every chess player in the movie is constantly measuring himself against Fischer. For a time, Josh is pushed to become like Fischer in every aspect of his life, encouraged to "give himself over" to chess.

Is complete devotion a requirement of natural talent? Just because a person is good at something, does that mean they should do it for the rest of their lives? Do they have a choice? An argument could be made, and this movie definitely raises the possibility, that a more well-rounded upbringing is better for children, who must then develop into adults that can function in a diverse society. Maybe a variety of experiences is better for a young mind. Maybe a person's fate shouldn't be decided at such a young age. This theory is only bolstered by the example of Bobby Fischer.

Zaillian and his actors do an excellent job of showing how parents, with good intentions, can push their children in a way that can become emotionally/psychologically damaging. We can read it in the face of Josh's father, when he decides to move Josh to a different school to be with more "gifted" children and realizes how implicitly Josh trusts him. It's the kind of moment that can leave a parent wondering if they made the right decision.

One powerful element of the story is the confrontation of the fear of losing. Bruce Pandolfini tries to teach Josh to have contempt for his chess opponents, and, by extension, everybody else. At a crucial point, Josh's mother steps in and puts a stop to the chess lessons. She is able to convince her husband that Josh's happiness is more important than winning, that his innate sense of decency and integrity is more valuable than chess. Only then does Josh's playing truly improve.

In this version of the story, Josh's fear of losing seems to be prompted by the appearance of another young prodigy named Jonathan Poe (Michael Nirenberg). Poe's mentor (played by Robert Stephens) appears to be an old nemesis to Pandolfini, one whose methods of mentoring in the art of chess go beyond even those of Bruce, who shows immediate distaste upon discovering that Poe has been removed from school and "given" to his mentor by parents we never see. This poor child's life is completely focused on chess. But is he a better player than Josh? Or is Josh's wider view of the game the key to real victory, in the game and in life?

The final sequence of the movie involves yet another chess tournament, but this time the emotional stakes have been raised, and the possibilities of winning and losing carry greater weight in the heart and mind of a young player. The entire Waitzkin family attends, bringing along Vinnie, who has become a real friend to Josh. Bruce, who has begged off attending all previous tournaments in which Josh has participated, makes a surprise last-minute appearance. He and Josh share a quiet scene before the big showdown that, for me, is the heart of the entire story. Here we finally see their shared emotional connection, where truths are spoken, and we see that lessons have been learned, not just by the student, but also by the teacher. (Most good teachers will tell you that this is always the case.)

Even though chess is the common thread throughout the story, we come away from it having learned about talent, friendship, discipline, disappointment, contrasts, parents, and true sportsmanship. Whether or not Josh is the next Bobby Fischer becomes immaterial compared to the life he could lead, playing and winning on his own terms. I'm always a little surprised at how moved I become every time I watch this subtle and insightful story. I recently discovered that this movie holds a 100% certified fresh rating on the Rotten Tomatoes website. And it should! Searching for Bobby Fischer is a quiet classic.