Finding Nemo

Finding Nemo (2003) was released right smack in the middle of Pixar Studio's first ten films, when it seemed they couldn't take a wrong step.  There have been a few minor stumbles in the last few years, but they remain one of the best animation studios in the world.  The best of their output is made up of stories almost anyone can relate to, animated with striking and powerful imagery.

Finding Nemo was only the fifth Pixar film, when they were on a steep upward trajectory.  It's one of the more visually beautiful films I can name, presenting ocean life in a way we'd never seen before.  There's a richness to the visuals that was unprecedented, in service of a story that includes plenty of laughs, while packing an emotional wallop.  Writer-director Andrew Stanton and his amazing team created what is widely regarded as a modern-day classic.

The story begins with tragedy, as Marlin (voice by Albert Brooks) the clownfish loses his wife and their brood of eggs in a vicious barracuda attack . . . except for one slightly damaged egg.  From this egg is born his son Nemo (voice by Alexander Gould), who has a smaller fin on one side, what they call his "lucky fin."  By the time the main story begins, Nemo is ready for his first day of school and ready to step out of the shadow of his overprotective father.  Brooks is perfect as Marlin, easily gaining our sympathy and somehow making us laugh as we go.  All of his neuroses and tendency to be a helicopter parent, while understandable, might be causing damage to his relationship with his son.  And it's because of this damage that Nemo decides to defy his dad in a moment of recklessness and gets captured by a human diver.

As Nemo is taken away in a motorboat, Marlin tries to follow and literally bumps into a blue fish named Dory (voice by Ellen DeGeneres).  It takes a couple of minutes for Marlin—and the audience—to realize that Dory has short-term memory loss.  While this feature of her personality is used for big laughs and amusing moments throughout the film, it will have a powerful payoff near the end of the story.  I admired how the filmmakers decided not to magically "cure" Dory.  Their treatment of real-life issues that we face every day, like deformities, disabilities, and all kinds of perceived handicaps, is more subtle (and more poignant) than most people realize.

From here we follow two storylines: (1) Marlin's search for his son with the help of Dory, and (2) Nemo's adventures once he is deposited in the fish tank of his captor, a scuba diving dentist from Sydney, Australia.  The parallel stories are exceptionally well-handled.  This isn't just about Marlin coming to terms with being a father to a growing son; Nemo has a full character arc, as well.  In fact, other characters have lessons to learn and value to provide.  Although there are plenty of throwaway gags and many incidental creatures, most of the lead characters are given more depth than most moviegoers would expect in an animated film.  (That's the secret of most animated stories: The good ones aren't made for only children, but for people of all ages.  I would defy anybody to watch this movie and not find something that rings true.)

Of course, a journey across the ocean naturally lends itself to all kinds of interesting encounters.  Marlin and Dory first encounter a trio of sharks who have started a support group ("Fish are friends, not food").  Led by Bruce (voice by Barry Humphries a.k.a. Dame Edna—for real), who was surely named after the mechanical shark used in Jaws which was named after Steven Spielberg's lawyer, they hold their meetings in a sunken submarine in the middle of a minefield.  (The other two sharks are voiced by Eric Bana and Bruce Spence, adding to the list of top-tier Australian talent in the movie.)  When the entire minefield inevitably blows up (because you know it's got to), it leads to one of the quietest and funniest moments in the movie ("Nice").

Meanwhile, Nemo finds himself in the dentist's fish tank surrounded by a variety of other fish, including a sea star, a blowfish, a shrimp, and their leader Gill (voice by Willem Dafoe), a Moorish idol fish with a damaged fin and scars.  They are occasionally joined by an outside friend, Nigel the pelican (voice by Geoffrey Rush).  They quickly befriend Nemo in a hysterical initiation ceremony, as Gill immediately sees a way to use Nemo as the means for their escape.  But time is against them, as the dentist intends to give Nemo to his niece, the dreaded Darla.

After their escape from the submarine, Marlin and Dory have a nasty and yet amusing encounter with an anglerfish, and then get advice from a school of moonfish (voice by John Ratzenberger) on how to find the E.A.C. (East Australian Current) so they can make their way to Sydney.  It's in this stretch of the movie that the friendship between Marlin and Dory settles into a sort of rhythm.  Even with her memory problems, Dory somehow stays with Marlin, sensing something familiar and endearing about him, somehow knowing that if she stays with him, she'll be okay.  Yet Dory's purpose is utterly selfless, trying to help the anxious Marlin search for his son.  Marlin continually dismisses most of what Dory has to say, tolerating her presence, and then every once in a while, she'll say something subtly profound.

In a moment when Marlin should listen to Dory but doesn't, they find themselves in the middle of a forest of jellyfish.  Marlin tries to create a game that will hold Dory's attention as they try to escape the jellyfish, and even though they do escape, they don't do so unscathed.  Simultaneously, Gill and the other members of the Tank Gang use Nemo as their point man, but the plan doesn't work and leaves Nemo traumatized, convincing Gill that their plan is just too risky.

After their close call with the jellyfish, Marlin and Dory are rescued by sea turtles and find themselves in the E.A.C.  They are befriended by Crush (voice by Andrew Stanton) and his son Squirt (voice by Nicholas Bird, the son of Brad Bird, director of The Iron Giant and The Incredibles).  Stanton gives Crush the best surfer dude line delivery you've ever heard, which belies unexpected wisdom.  As Marlin shares his story with the turtles, word of his efforts spreads across the ocean, until even Nigel the pelican hears about it and rushes to inform Nemo that his father is indeed headed to Sydney to rescue him.  This creates a special moment in the story, when the story of Marlin's exploits gives Nemo the courage to make Gill's plan succeed.

As Marlin and Dory continue to make their way to Sydney, they end up in the belly of a whale.   The lead-up to this is laugh-out-loud funny as Dory shows her ability to "speak whale."  It's through their experience with the whale that Marlin finally learns to trust Dory, and the whale (sort of) deposits them in the harbor near Sydney.

I'm going to end my plot description there.  When Marlin and Nemo are finally reunited, it's interesting to see that Marlin still has one more lesson to learn, which is to trust his son and let him be his own man (or fish, whatever).  Even though Marlin overcomes a lot of his anxieties by travelling across the ocean, he has to learn not to let his worries inhibit those around him.  By allowing Nemo and Dory to make decisions, Marlin begins to see them as they are.  Will they always need a little assistance?  Maybe, but now they won't be defined by their disabilities.

There are so many chuckles and laughs throughout the movie (too many to mention here—except that it will forever change how you look at seagulls), it's surprising to realize how much danger the characters face through most of the story.  If Marlin didn't have someone as sunny as Dory by his side, someone who also needs his attention, there's a chance he would become paralyzed with fear.  The best characters, and the best friends, inspire us with courage and strength, and bring out the best in those around them.

No discussion of the movie would be complete without mentioning Thomas Newman's incredible score, which is the perfect companion to Stanton's film.  The music perfectly complements the action and danger, but there are also moments of wonder and adventure, big laughs and moments of sadness.  Newman is one of the best at writing music that is somehow happy and bittersweet at the same time (which is how parenting and growing up feel much of the time).  The movie feels like it's full of music, but Newman uses it sparingly.  We only hear the main theme three times in the film, and yet that's enough.  The theme is so strong and short and simple, everyone remembers it.

Finding Nemo is now twenty-three years old, and, boy, does it hold up well.  The "message" of the movie (or, at least, the one I've chosen to focus on) is subtle yet deeply moving.  Not only is Marlin brought to a new level of awareness, but we are as well.  Movies aren't always an "escape" from real life.  Sometimes they're a reminder of what's really important in life.

Hadestown

The first time I heard of the Broadway musical Hadestown was at a staff meeting for our high school theatre program.  People on the staff had gone to see the show and came back raving about it, calling it an "instant favorite."  They said it involved the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, including Hades and Persephone, but those were really all the details I was given.

Several months later, in June of 2023, I was a chaperone for a group of our theatre kids on a trip to New York City.  The main thrust of these trips, which happen periodically, is to see several Broadway productions (we saw seven shows during that trip).  The first show we saw, the day we arrived, was Sweeney Todd, starring Josh Groban, and it was excellent.  We had four pre-planned shows, leaving three openings for each of us to pick which shows we wanted to see.  Our director and technical director encouraged me to see Hadestown but still didn't say much in the way of specifics.  Since they had already seen it, they went to another show, and all the students accompanied me to the Walter Kerr theater to see Hadestown.

I went in knowing nothing about the music, the setting, the costumes, or the cast.  As it turns out, it's pretty much a single set show with only a few moving parts, and sort of resembles how you might imagine a New Orleans speakeasy would have looked a century ago.  It features a live band right on the stage.  When the cast stepped out on stage to begin the production, they were joined by Lillias White in the role of Hermes.  I almost fell over in surprise.  I had been a fan of hers for over twenty years and never thought I would be lucky enough to see her in person.  So my excitement level skyrocketed.  In that moment I realized just how blindly I had walked in, but it was thrilling to experience the show while having no expectations.

Hadestown is more of a minimalist production than most Broadway shows.  In the book she wrote about how it was written and developed, composer-lyricist Anäis Mitchell explained that if they got too literal with the imagery, the message of the show became muddled.  The more they left things to the audience’s imagination, the more powerful it became.

At the end of Act One, the set expands as Orpheus travels to the underworld.  I'll never forget the faces of a couple of our theatre students as that happened.  It's not the most spectacular effect, yet it was uncannily effective.  A majority of the cast stay on stage throughout most of the show, and somehow it never feels crowded.  An intimate moment at one end of the stage is being watched by characters who are only feet away, but it doesn't rob the moment of its poignancy.

By the end of the show, I knew I'd seen something special.  It was almost overwhelming, like I didn't know how to take it all in and comprehend the effect it had on me.  I've had awe-inspiring moments watching theatre productions before, but nothing like this.  When I reported to a fellow staff member how much I loved the show, she asked, "What part made you cry?"  And I realized that I hadn't gotten emotional like that (which is atypical for me).  But I sure did later the more I listened to the soundtrack.  I specifically recall driving home from work one day while "Wait for Me (Reprise)" was playing in my car and I had tears streaming down my face.

After seeing the show, I quickly bought everything I could: the soundtrack CD, the merchandise, the souvenir program, Anäis Mitchell's book (Working on a Song), the sheet music.  I set about becoming as familiar with the show as I could.  Out of the seven shows I saw during that NYC trip, of which Hadestown was only the second, it was the show that I thought about the most, the one that lingered in my mind and reverberated in my heart.  An instant favorite, indeed.

A year later, our theatre production staff decided to do Hadestown: Teen Edition for our fall 2024 show.  The thought of it thrilled and frightened me.  The thought of getting our hands on the script and music and having the privilege to perform such rich material was exciting beyond belief.  But our staff have high standards, and the only way I could imagine maintaining the integrity of the show was to have a live band on stage, and that alone seemed very daunting.

Our production of the show had nineteen highly talented students in the cast and a seven-piece band, including me at the piano.  Some of the kids in the show seemed born to play their respective roles.  I wish I could have taken pictures from my corner of the stage, because some of the images I saw were so striking and beautiful.  I still can't believe we pulled it off.  What an honor to be a small part of something so special.

I just recently saw Hadestown again in New York City, this time with my sister and her husband and youngest daughter.  It was an entirely new cast, and they were every bit as good as you could hope for.  There wasn't a weak link anywhere, and in my eyes, the actors for Persephone and Orpheus were exceptional.  Seeing a live production again with a new cast can make you worry that it won't have the same power.  I had not one shred of disappointment.

And this time, I cried.  This time I knew the story back to front, every note of the music, every lyric, and every pause written into the script.  And it was still emotionally devastating.  If I was a bit blindsided the first time, by now my heart and mind have surrendered to the power of the storytelling.   The opening number, "Road to Hell," is such a clever beginning, providing an up-tempo song to hook the audience and get us clapping our hands and stomping our feet.  But no one seeing the show for the first time realizes when the actors sing, "It's a sad song, it's a tragedy," that they're dead serious.  By the time we hear the slow reprise at the end of the show, the words have taken on their true meaning, and we are deeply surprised because we didn't know what effect the show was going to have on us a mere two and a half hours later.

I could go on about every song in the show, but I'll refrain.  I'll mention that "All I've Ever Known" is one of the most romantic songs I can name and somehow becomes even more romantic during the reprise.  "Wait for Me" is probably my favorite.  Something about Orpheus's pleading and the swinging lights and the fog . . . it all adds up to something unexpectedly powerful (how many times have I used that word?).  And finishing with "We Raise Our Cups" after the bows is a truly touching finale to a uniquely touching show.

A few months ago, during the performances of another high school theatre production, a former student asked me what my favorite show was to perform in the last two or three years.  Without hesitation, without having to even think about it, I said Hadestown.  I sincerely love most of the shows I've worked on and have had some amazing experiences.  Nothing has resonated with me like Hadestown, though.  An instant favorite—for sure.

One of the brilliant touches in Hadestown is at the end, when Hermes tells us, "It's a sad song, but we sing it anyway.  We're gonna sing it again."  I love sad songs.  They help me slow down and work through difficult emotions and help me process grief and pain.  I'll listen to them over and over.  It brings catharsis.  I can't explain why.  All I know is that Hadestown does the same thing for me, and I hope to see it again.

Beatlemania

My siblings and I were exposed to all kinds of music while we were growing up.  From classical to country, gospel, pop, rock, blues, comedy, and even rap.  Our parents tended to steer us away from hard rock and heavy metal, though.  (Ironically, what we called "hard rock" back then seems mild by today's standards.)  The breadth of artists we listened to is kind of staggering to consider.

Because our dad is a huge fan, the music we heard (probably) the most was by the Beatles.  He owns every Beatles album, many books, all the movies, etc.  We grew up watching their movies, especially Help! (which seemed riotously funny when I was a kid, but a little more eye-roll-inducing now; A Hard Day's Night, however, is still a classic).  I have a particularly strong memory of my parents teaching us kids how to sing harmony with the song "If I Fell."  Most of it is sung in two-part harmony; using it to train our young ears was brilliant.  All of us grew up loving and playing music, unaware (for a while, at least) that our unofficial "training" began at an early age.

I had a high school history teacher named Mr. Browning who was a big fan of the Beach Boys (another group I became familiar with as a kid).  One day, he made a comparison between the Beach Boys and the Beatles that I thought was grossly unfair ("I wanna hold your hand?  What kind of song is that?").  I wish I'd been brave enough to speak up and defend the Beatles ("A romantic song, that's what!  It's better than that baa baa black sheep song by the Beach Boys!").  I've always liked the Beach Boys, but I thought his comparison was simplistic and stupid.

(Years later, I was almost drawn into another debate.  As the music director for our high school theatre program, I occasionally get attention from students based on what kind of t-shirt I'm wearing.  On a day that I was wearing a Beatles shirt, a young snot declared, "The Beatles are overrated!"  I replied, "The Beatles have remained popular for over sixty years, but they're overrated?"  "Yeah!" was all he said.  He was obviously trying to start a debate.  Another student spoke up in my defense and said, "You're entitled to your opinion—even if you're wrong.")           When the Beatles Anthology was released, our family religiously watched the documentary on TV.  I especially remember when the new songs "Free as a Bird" and "Real Love" were released.  I'll never forget sitting down with my dad in his music store—me at a keyboard, him with a guitar—and we learned how to play "Free as a Bird" by ear.  The song's chord progression is more complex than it sounds.  And I'll always remember Dad pointing out the layered harmonies sung behind the guitar solo.

Around the time Dad's music store opened, I had become an obsessed fan of Elton John.  I evidently had no idea how this impacted those around me until the day my mom told me a comment made by my dad.  "I used to like Elton John," he said, "until Brian started to play his music all the time."  When she told me that, my initial reaction was, well, how do you think I feel about the Beatles?!  Mom and Dad didn't exactly shove the Beatles down our throats, but their music almost threatened to overwhelm everything else.  An unintentional consequence, obviously.  It's easy to let an interest (or obsession) drive other people crazy, and the apple (get it?) doesn't fall far from the tree.

By the time I left on an LDS mission to Chicago, I was a dyed-in-the-wool Elton John fan (and I still am).  Although we were supposed to stay focused on missionary work, I'm still amazed how much music I was introduced to during my mission.  (The blues is quite popular in the area.)  I heard the Beatles a few times, and it was no big deal.  At the end of my mission, my parents and brothers traveled to pick me up and we spent two weeks on the trip home.  The day after they picked me up, we went to dinner at Fuddruckers.  As we were waiting for our food, the Beatles began to play on the radio.  (I've never been able to remember exactly which song, but I think it was "I'll Be Back.")  I turned to my dad, trying to contain my emotions, and said, "I've missed the Beatles."

Yes.  As much as I thought of myself as a true-blue Elton John fan (which I still am), I had been raised to love the Beatles.  Their music helped shape my dad, and helped shape me, even though I didn't know it until that moment in Fuddruckers.  Ever since then, I've felt some kind of need to "catch up" on my Beatles knowledge, somehow feeling like I'd fallen behind my brothers in that department.  Not only has it strengthened my familial relationships, but it also increased my appreciation for such a seminal rock band.

The first time I got to see Elton John perform in Las Vegas, I was able to travel with my sister, Brooke, and her husband and daughter.  We spent an entire day exploring the Strip, and Brooke and I made sure to hit the Beatles Lounge at the Mirage hotel where the Cirque du Soleil show The Beatles LOVE was in residency.  I bought a souvenir program and took it home to show my dad.  As he looked through it, he said, “I've never wanted to go to Vegas, but now I do."  Not long after that, my parents went to see the show and came home raving about it.  All of us in the family bought the accompanying CD album, but over the years, none of the rest of us went to see the show.  (I went back several years later to see Elton John again, and once again made sure to visit the Beatles store and buy a shirt.)

In the spring of 2024, I read that the Mirage had been bought out and the Beatles LOVE show would be ending in July of that year.  I let my parents know, and they immediately decided to go see the show again.  Once I found out about the show's impending finish, I figured that I had missed out on something special.  (It had been running for eighteen years, which is a record in Vegas.)  To my surprise, Mom and Dad contacted the entire family and invited us to go with them.  Even more surprisingly, all my siblings agreed to go.  Having most of my immediate family planning to attend a Beatles show together felt significant.  ("All together now!")

We convened at the Mirage on June 27, 2024, and went to the most Beatles-tastic show I've ever seen.  It's hard to describe, partly because the show was performed "in the round," which makes every angle unique.  My dad said the show was like sensory overload, but in a good way.  That was an understatement.  For much of the show there was so much happening that you couldn't possibly take it all in.  But it was glorious.  It began with an a cappella rendition of "Because," and then we heard the famous opening chord of "A Hard Day's Night" that began a mashup opening to "Get Back."  By the time "Get Back" started, I was becoming emotional (I suspect other members of my family were as well).  It was one of the most exciting openings to a show that I've ever witnessed.

Parts of the show were appropriately dialed back for the accompanying songs, but the majority was a lollapalooza of visual imagery combined with stunning acrobatics and choreography.  Hearing the new version of "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" at full volume made it even more emotional and poignant.  I remember thinking during the show, THIS is the volume at which the Beatles should be played!  It felt like we were in the studio with them.  And I got emotional again near the end of the show, when they played "Hey Jude" and finished with "All You Need is Love."  The show was magnificent, and my family was there to witness it and celebrate music that we deeply love.  I will never forget it.

One highlight was watching my nephew Dean experience the show.  He was already a big enough Beatles fan to have a genuine interest.  Even with all the razzle-dazzle going on, I kept stealing glances to see the excitement on his face and noticed how he spent portions of the show completely spellbound.  I was already an emotional sap, but I'm sure watching Dean's reactions contributed to my experience.

I was told shortly after the concert that Dean couldn't get enough of the Beatles.  The same was true for me.  For the next few months, I was in hardcore Beatles obsession overdrive.  I bought every Beatles product that caught my interest that I didn't already own and tuned the radio in my car to the Beatles channel, where it stayed for three months.  I was effectively listening to the Beatles every single day.

Just before my family went on our Vegas trip, I was at a theatre staff meeting where the director and choreographer presented me with a Little Golden Book about the Beatles!  Then our prop mistress disappeared for a short while.  When she reappeared, she presented me with a framed picture of the Beatles (which happens to be a family favorite).  She had been cleaning out her house, and once she saw how much I love the Beatles, she decided the picture should go to me.  I think my brain started to shift into "hardcore Beatles obsession overdrive" that very night.

So here I am, an obsessed Beatles fan.  I can't imagine my life without them.  It makes me think of a line from the movie Yesterday: "A world without the Beatles is a world that's infinitely worse."

The Vast of Night

There's a delicious eeriness to Andrew Patterson's feature debut, The Vast of Night (2019).  The story is crafted from familiar elements of science fiction, but they are presented in a manner that injects the film with an urgent sense of immediacy.  Although it's technically a period film that takes place in the 1950s, we're drawn into it as if it's happening right now.

The story begins in the fictional town of Cayuga, New Mexico, as local radio disc jockey Everett Sloan (Jake Horowitz) assists with preparations for a high school basketball game.  His switchboard operator friend Fay Crocker (Sierra McCormick) finds him there, asks for his help with her new tape recorder, and the two set off together across town as they head to their jobs.  On the way, the two keep up a continual patter laced with all kinds of amusing period slang.  (My favorites are "Razz my berries" and "I don't know a frog's ribbit about those things.")  It's already dark outside, and the town is strangely quiet since everyone is at the school game.

As Fay takes her place at the switchboard, she listens to Everett's show on the radio, which is briefly interrupted by some kind of strange noise.  Then a woman, nearly frantic, calls and says there's a large object hovering over her property.  Fay contacts Everett, and he plays the strange noise over the air and invites people to call in if they can identify it.  A man named Billy (Bruce Davis) calls in and tells an intriguing story involving the audio signal which I will not spoil here.  He reveals that he sent copies of a recording of the signal to people he worked with on a secret military operation, including someone in Cayuga.

While Fay and Everett track down the recording, various people call the switchboard with reports of "something in the sky."  They meet a couple named Gerald and Bertsie who are trying to track down the same object.  And then an elderly woman named Mabel Blanche (Gail Cronauer) calls and invites Everett and Fay to her home where, she claims, she can explain what is happening on the outskirts of town.  And I'm going to leave the plot right there.

Roger Ebert used to say, "It's not what a movie is about, but how it's about it."  The Vast of Night is proof of that theory.  All kinds of elements of this story could have been presented in a standard, clichéd manner, yet Patterson subverts our expectations at every turn.  Some period films linger a little too lovingly on the trappings of the time; this one just gets on with it.  It's an interesting choice of the filmmakers to set the story in the '50s, when fears of communism were regularly transmuted into science fiction stories.

Another intriguing facet is how the movie is framed as a story within the "Paradox Theatre" television program.  At various intervals throughout the film the color drains from the image and the actual visual frame and audio change to look and sound like a vintage television broadcast.  Although these things could hold the audience at arm's length, it's astounding how bewitched we become over the course of the film.

The acting throughout is top-notch, featuring a rare naturalism.  Bruce Davis and Gail Cronauer are able to invest their characters with utter believability, and the two leads keep the entire story from descending into melodrama.  Horowitz is the nerdy-cool king of charisma, effortlessly holding our attention even when all he's doing is listening.  And McCormick proves to be the equal of any actor in a ten-minute scene at the switchboard where she begins to clock the growing alarm of the people calling about what's happening on the edge of town; the scene sounds boring on paper but is so expertly written and timed that it's spellbinding.  It's also fun to see that neither Everett nor Fay are written to be likable by default.  They can get on each other's nerves, which makes them seem even more realistic.

Everyone who has seen the film talks about the same tracking shot that occurs around the midpoint.  You’ll know the one.  It’s a technical marvel and proof that talent and ability can overcome budgetary restraints.  Online explanations and interpretations only add to the accomplishment of the filmmakers and increase the mystery of the story.

It’s a bit surprising how quiet this movie is for (seemingly) long stretches of time.  We spend a lot of time listening to people relate things they’ve witnessed and experienced.  And the lead characters spend that time listening right along with us.  I know that doesn’t sound very exciting, but it gives the characters and the audience time to consider the implications at the same pace, drawing us further into the intrigue.  As the characters grow alarmed, so do we, with tension that steadily increases until our hearts are nearly pounding before we reach the final scene.

Everything leads to a shot that is stunning in its simplicity, unexpectedly hushed, and deceptive in its impact.  The realization of what we’re seeing hits us a beat after it dawns on the characters.  In my mind, there’s no question how the film ends, yet it’s easy to see how multiple theories could spawn from the final moments.  We’re left to ponder all that has happened and consider the stories that have been told and the experiences that have been shared.

The first time I saw The Vast of Night, I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.  Critics raved about it, but is it a masterpiece?  I dunno.  Maybe.  As the days went by, though, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.  This one lingers in the mind, almost making you question whether you saw the images in a movie, or if you experienced them in some sort of dream or forgotten memory.  The real impact is when you catch yourself still thinking about the movie days and weeks later.  And if you’re like me, you’ll want to watch it again.

Past Lives

 Celine Song's Past Lives (2023) is all about subtlety and restraint.  It quietly examines the lives and choices of three people who are confronted with a poignant "what if" situation.  The script never stumbles into melodramatic territory, carefully guiding us through moments that are (almost painfully) relatable.  That makes it sound like a sad story, and it's not, really, but it does have a bittersweet ending of sorts.  That is probably not the most enthralling description, yet I found the film to be involving and deeply moving.

The camera observes the characters in such a way that you could be fooled into thinking that this is some kind of documentary and forget that you're watching professional actors at the top of their game.  The story seems so true to life, so gentle in the telling, that we walk away surprised at how much we've been affected.

The story begins in Korea, with twelve-year-old classmates Na Young and Hae Sung.  They have an easy friendship and behave as real children.  One minute they're close as can be, the next they're annoyed with each other.  Kids make emotional connections very easily and can make offhand comments that unknowingly hurt someone's feelings.  We've all had or have seen childhoods like this.  The two classmates seem destined to be lifelong friends until Na Young's family immigrates to Canada.

The story picks up twelve years later, when Na Young, renamed Nora (Greta Lee), reconnects with Hae Sung (Teo Yoo) online.  They rekindle their friendship, video chatting on a regular basis, with Hae Sung still in Korea and Nora now living in New York City.  This goes on for a bit, and it's clear they enjoy spending time talking.  After a while, though, it becomes evident that neither one seems ready to drop everything and move to another country so they can be together.  Norea eventually decides that they need to give their friendship a break so she can focus on her work as a writer.  Hae Sung is more obviously upset, while Nora hides her tears, but they both agree that maybe it's for the best.

Another twelve years pass by, as they do, in the blink of an eye.  (After a certain age we all learn that time seems to pick up speed; it's only when we're children that time seems infinite.)  By this time, Nora has been married for seven years to Arthur (John Magaro), a fellow writer she met at a writer's retreat in Montauk.  It turns out that Hae Sung has made contact again and is planning to visit New York City.  The story now appears to have all the pieces in place for a classic love triangle that ends happily for two people and with heartbreak for the third.  But Song is too clever for that.  Things don't happen like that in real life as much as they do in movies, and Song knows this.

The scene where Nora and Hae Sung meet in person for the first time in twenty-four years is a lesson in subtlety.  As the camera follows them through scenic New York locations (exactly the kinds of places a resident would take a visiting friend), the two friends seem surprised to be in each other's presence again.  Their conversations are punctuated by frequent, long looks at each other, the kind that add many more layers to what is being said.  That doesn't mean the actors overdo it in any way.  As I said before, this movie is all about restraint.  There is a graceful quality to the roles that are embodied and amplified by the actors.

When Nora and Arthur discuss the situation, their conversation goes to a smarter, higher, more thoughtful level than I expected.  Arthur is an intelligent, kind, decent, and understanding partner to Nora.  More than any other role in the story, his could have been the most predictable, yet even he brings unexpected dimensions to the table.  How Arthur reacts to Hae Sung is a key moment in the film but not overplayed.

We've been conditioned by movies over the years to assume that Nora and Hae Sung are destined to be together, and discussions throughout the story of the Korean concept of inyun can fool us into thinking we know where this story is headed.  But it's so much more complicated than that.  This is not some robust "love of my life" romance, although it may look like that at first glance.  Celine Song's story is an original, much deeper and more delicate than conventional love stories.  And a whole lot more realistic, once you think about it.

According to Google, "inyun is a Korean concept that signifies fate or providence, specifically regarding relationships.  Rooted in Buddhism and reincarnation, it describes an invisible, destined connection that binds two people across multiple lifetimes, suggesting that even brief encounters are the result of past connections."  This is mentioned a few times during the movie, and it's interesting to note which characters find hope and meaning in the idea and which ones don't.

(Spoilers from here.)  As critic Justin Chang pointed out, "...it's Hae Sung, self-identifying as an 'ordinary,' traditional specimen of Korean manhood, who makes the movie's boldest romantic gesture."  But it's obvious that Hae Sung's intention is not to swoop in and take Nora away, thus destroying her marriage and leaving Arthur shattered.  He likes Arthur, and I think that helps him get through the final moments of the film.  He never says it out loud, but it's clear that he loves Nora, and I think he finds comfort knowing that she's married to such a good man.

There have been countless interpretations of the final scene.  As Nora and Hae Sung say goodbye, he brings up inyun one last time, then gets into his Uber and drives away.  Nora walks back to her apartment, where she is met by Arthur, patiently waiting, and she breaks down in tears.

In a TikTok video, writer/director Celine Song explains that Hae Sung is glad to say goodbye to his friend.  Although he probably wishes things had been different, it gives him closure and he seems almost hopeful as he faces the future.  Nora has the more emotional response, finally saying goodbye to not only her childhood friend, but to the twelve-year-old girl she used to be, the one that left Hae Sung behind in Korea, and probably didn't realize that she needed to say goodbye to that part of herself.  Justin Chang again: "For Nora, Hae Sung is at once a soulfully handsome face, a loving friend, a piercing reminder and maybe the one man on the planet who can begin to see her in her totality."

The ending of the film is obviously not an ending for the characters.  There's so much to consider, so much worth pondering.  The best stories cause us to reflect upon our own lives, maybe to look at things in a different way, to reevaluate and to grow.  What a lovely story this is, with characters who emanate worthy qualities as they navigate through life and teach us a few things along the way.  One last quote from Justin Chang: "You leave this movie grateful to have lived alongside these characters to this point, and wondering about the infinite possibilities that lie ahead."

The Peanuts Movie

I grew up reading Charles Schulz's Peanuts comic strip and watching the animated specials.  Vince Guaraldi's music for the specials (especially "Linus and Lucy," which is widely considered the main theme of the Peanuts gang) is part of my identity as a musician.  And I even got to play Schroeder in the stage musical You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown (twice!).  So my view of all things Peanuts seems kinda personal.

The thought of a new computer-animated movie featuring the Peanuts characters worried me.  Would it be faithful to the comics?  Would it get things right?  Would it ruin my childhood?!?!  After watching The Peanuts Movie (2015), I looked back at my initial hesitancy and thought, good grief.

My favorite part of the entire movie came right at the top with the 20th Century Fox fanfare being played by Schroeder on his piano.  That clever touch hooked me right away.  As the story began and we got our first look at the animation, all my worries quickly melted away.  The animators have updated the characters for CG animation, yet they present everything in a way that stays true to how we've seen them over the years.  The characters are always shown from angles we've seen before and are never quite fully 3D.  And although the story seems to take place in the same old timeline, everything looks bright and fresh and vibrant.

The story touches on a lot of familiar themes and moments we know from previous versions.  What this version does is bring these stories to a whole new generation.  Some critics felt that the movie lacked ambition, but it could be argued that changing things too much would have been jarring for those of us who grew up with these characters.  To be fair, there isn't really anything "new" in this movie, but it's been put together in a newer, bigger way for a modern movie audience, and I didn't mind that.

The voice actors, beginning with Noah Schnapp as Charlie Brown, are perfect.  The qualities we already know and love in these characters have once again been brought to life with spot-on casting.  And the relationship dynamics we've come to know are all present and accounted for.  Lucy is still overbearing, Linus is still thoughtful and intelligent, Peppermint Patty is still an outspoken tomboy, and Charlie Brown still struggles with anxiety (more on this later).  Part of why people have enjoyed these characters is how familiar they are to us.  I'm sure they represent, on some level, the different facets of Charles Schulz's personality, which makes them instantly relatable to many people.  They never encounter earth-shaking events or problems, but ordinary, down-to-earth issues.  In a way, the Peanuts characters represent us, and face many of the same situations and decisions.

The only fantastical elements of the movie occur when Snoopy lets his imagination run free.  The World War I Flying Ace sequences are a riot, shot in a much more cinematic style than the surrounding story.  The animators have cleverly framed the action so that we never see the bottom of Snoopy's doghouse when he's flying.  I got a huge kick out of how the filmmakers were able to mesh the silliness of what Snoopy does with the scope of his imagination.  Of course, Snoopy steals the movie every time he appears on screen.  (Yet another familiar detail.)  I would place Snoopy on a short list of favorite animated movie dogs alongside Gromit and Dug (from Up).

There is one element of the movie that I didn't love, and that was the inclusions of a couple of songs by Meghan Trainor and Flo Rida.  Fun music, to be sure, but they feel out of place in a story set at a time when there are still corded phones and not a computer in sight.  I would have been more content with just the Christophe Beck score and the original Vince Guaraldi music.  Maybe that's just me, though.  (Does that make me some sort of traditionalist who only wants the same old thing?  Not necessarily, although I've probably made it sound that way.)  It's a tricky balancing act when older material is "updated."

One danger common to movies adapted from well-known source material is the tendency of critics and audiences to think they know how the movie "should have been made," and to declare their opinions with an air of superiority.  Let's face it, it's all opinion, it's all subjective.  In the case of this movie, I may have a strong personal connection to the characters, but I would find it hard to argue with the direction taken by the filmmakers.  And who are the people behind the film?  Well, let's see.  There's director Steven Martino, an established name in animated films.  Schulz's widow, Jean Schulz, served as an executive producer.  The screenplay was co-written by Schulz's son Craig, along with his son Bryan, and Cornelius Uliano.  The fact that control of the movie was kept within the family, so to speak, gave me confidence to trust their decisions.  I get the feeling they know these characters more intimately than anybody.

Some critics took issue with what they felt was a break in tone between the movie and the comic strip.  Joe McGovern from Entertainment Weekly referred to "the great melancholy that's so key to the comic's endurance."  Another critic said the movie was "too happy" compared to the original comic.  I'm not going to be bold enough to declare that these comments are somehow "wrong," or a misreading of the comic strip.  Instead of a break in tone, I would consider that the movie reflects an evolution of how we view these characters.

I mentioned that Charlie Brown struggles with anxiety.  He worries too much about what other people will think about him, he worries that he's not good enough, he frets over first impressions, he worries about looking silly in front of his peers.  But he is also unfailingly kind, willing to work hard to accomplish his goals, and a reliable friend.  When his little sister faces a difficult moment during a school assembly, he becomes the awesome, supportive older brother she needs.  When he is mistakenly celebrated for a perfect test score, he wastes no time in telling the truth regardless of the consequences.  When he goes to Lucy for advice, it's surprising to realize that he's shunning the "typical male" behavior of bottling things up (Charlie Brown is open about his issues and insecurities in a therapeutic setting on a level that people should use as an example).  Whether he's facing the things that worry him or making multiple attempts to fly a kite, Charlie Brown is a pure example of perseverance.  This story shows us that he is a person of character, a person worth admiring.

The Peanuts Movie celebrates all of these qualities and left me with an overwhelming feeling of joy.  Charlie Brown isn't a great character because he does the unthinkable, but because he starts each day with strong morals and a big heart.  He confronts the same things we do in a way that is ultimately courageous.  If only we could all be as brave as Charlie Brown.

King Kong: Revisted

Peter Jackson's King Kong (2005) never fails to move me.  I may never understand how Merian C. Cooper and Edgar Wallace cooked up their original story, but Jackson and his co-writers, Fran Walsh and Philippa Boyens, took that story and elevated it, giving Ann Darrow (and the audience) an emotional connection to Kong.  We pitied the poor creature in the original 1933 film, but in 2005 we actually cared about him.

The story begins at the lowest point of the Great Depression in New York City.  In the original movie, the filmmakers hit on the idea of using the Empire State Building only because it had recently completed construction and became the tallest structure in the world.  We get a glimpse of it early in the 2005 film, as the main characters depart NYC on the Venture as they travel to Skull Island.  The pairing of Kong and the Empire State Building was serendipitous, tying the two together from 1933 until the present day.  When you visit the building today you can find plenty of King Kong memorabilia.

Jackson uses the scenes in New York to lay more groundwork than the original film did.  The movie isn't exactly slow, but he's not afraid to take his time, especially in moments that will pay off unexpectedly later in the story.  Before the characters leave the city, we've come to understand just enough about what drives Vaudeville comedienne Ann Darrow (Naomi Watts), film producer Carl Denham (Jack Black), and playwright Jack Driscoll (Adrien Brody).  We even see how Denham's relationship with his assistant Preston (Colin Hanks) functions, even if we don't understand the level of Preston's loyalty (something even he begins to question).

The crew of the Venture are uniformly effective, from Captain Englehorn (Thomas Krestchmann) and first mate Mr. Hayes (Evan Parke) to Lumpy the cook (Andy Serkis, in an amusing dual role) and even Jimmy (Jamie Bell), an abandoned teenager who was discovered in the hold of the ship four years previously.  Mr. Hayes gives us just enough description of Jimmy's past to intrigue us, but it's never mentioned again.

Once the Venture enters a mysterious fog bank, it's impressive how much the tension ramps up.  The early scenes on the island are eerie and strangely beautiful.  And then the film crew encounter a tribe of natives that come off as terrifying.  More contemporary critics have tried to accuse Jackson of racism, yet his depiction isn't any more racist than the original, and the backstory described in behind-the-scenes interviews makes sense.  But they sure seem like a pretty deranged bunch.  Once Ann's horrified scream prompts a roar from the as-yet-unseen Kong, the natives waste no time in kidnapping her and presenting her as a sacrificial maiden.

The design and presentation of Skull Island is certainly memorable.  Jackson and his team have played true to design of the original film, enhancing things as they go and subtly turning the dial up to eleven.  One of my favorite sequences is the fight between Kong and a family of dinosaurs.  (I love that Jackson wanted dinosaurs not as paleontologists would describe them but more like old-style movie dinosaurs with crocodilian skin—another subtle link to the old film.)  When Kong, Ann, and the dinosaurs tumble into a ravine full of enormous vines, the choreography of the ongoing battle is stunning.  The stakes just go up and up, one danger after another, until we reach Kong's moment of victory.

In the 1933 film, directly after the famous "log sequence," characters were dropped down a ravine into what was called the "spider pit sequence," which was subsequently cut from the movie.  The sequence was allegedly too terrifying for audiences of the time.  Jackson has included the sequence and made it integral to the plot by highlighting the loss of Denham's film and camera, thus inspiring his reckless plan to capture Kong.  It threatens to derail the entire movie, except to demonstrate that Skull Island is a literal hell on Earth.  The ominous descriptions of the place before the characters arrive don't even do justice to the harrowing sights they encounter.

There's something almost obscene (in a well-executed way) about the cut from Skull Island to New York City, where audiences clamor to see Denham's vulgar show where Ann Darrow is offered up to "the beast."  Adrien Brody has a good scene as Jack, watching his own play in a nearby theater, as he realizes what he's given up and leaves the performance to search for Ann.  But he discovers—at the same moment as an emotionally defeated Kong—that Denham is using a double because the real Ann Darrow refused his offers.  This angers Kong, who breaks free and begins to terrorize the citizens of New York in a desperate search for his friend.  Jack cleverly uses a taxi to draw Kong away from crowds, the ape is eventually reunited with Ann, and their journey to inevitable tragedy begins.

I would place King Kong in the category of what Alfred Hitchcock called "pure cinema."  To tell the story in a different medium wouldn't have the same effect.  And, yes, I know about the Broadway musical of King Kong, and the unquestionable power of live theatre, but nobody in the theater would be unaware that they're watching a giant puppet.  Peter Jackson's Kong looks and acts like an actual giant gorilla, and there's a dynamic quality to the cinematography and the acting and the music and the design that can't be reduced to another type of storytelling and hope to have the same impact.  I love music, and theatre, and books, and art, and photography, and all manner of art forms, but I think the power of well-made movies is almost unmatched.  King Kong is an ideal cinematic story.

I've seen the films in the Legendary Pictures' "Monsterverse," and while I enjoyed the first Godzilla (2014), I thought their version of King Kong was a perversion of the character I love.  The Kong that first appeared in 1933 and was lovingly remade in 2005 was a 25-foot-tall ape from Skull Island that wound up perishing in New York.  The Monsterverse Kong is a hundred feet tall, featured in movies that bear little resemblance to the story I find curiously resonant.

The more I watch Jackson’s film, the more I admire what Naomi Watts and Andy Serkis brought to their roles.  Watts had arguably the most difficult job, spending so much time in distress, screaming and being carried around by a giant gorilla.  But her emotional connection to Kong is undeniable, affecting us in unexpected moments.  My favorite is when Kong sees the sunrise from the top of the Empire State Building, and imitates a gesture made by Ann when they watched a sunset together on Skull Island.

Kong's final ascent is given an almost majestic dimension thanks to the music by James Newton Howard.  The music is big and energetic in scenes of terror and action, and then gentle and emotional in scenes of surprising beauty.  The connection between Ann and Kong is really conveyed by the music.  Thinking back, it's surprising to realize how much of the story is told without dialogue.  It could almost be a silent film.

That emotional connection is the key to the entire story, the element that takes it from a sad-but-quirky story to a rich and thoughtful tale of tragedy.  The filmmakers have imbued the story with more depth and given it a core of empathy.  The 1933 film of King Kong will always be regarded as a classic and a landmark in film history.  But in my opinion, the Peter Jackson version is the definitive Kong film.