Dan Mooney

Up is a movie far stranger, and far more moving, than the one I was expecting. I thought I’d signed up for what really could have been the 20-minute short film version of the same movie, stripped of the extra layer or two of complication. And that would have been effective, and I would have enjoyed it, dewy-eyed and with a newfound appreciation of life and old people and aging, and that would have been it.

See, in this movie, balloon salesman Carl Fredricksen (voiced by Ed Asner) is a widower, refusing to move from the house of his dreams despite the large-scale construction surrounding him. It’s the house where, as a boy, he bonded with a little girl named Ellie, and later where they spent their married lives. When Ellie dies, he becomes more protective of his property, and when it’s encroached upon, he fights back and, one thing leading to another, is eventually forced to leave. But not without his house! He lets fly the balloons and sails to his and Ellie’s dream location in South America.

It goes on from there, in a couple of directions – but if it didn’t, that’d be the short film I described earlier. Right near the beginning, a beautiful, extended wordless montage takes us through his and Ellie’s lives. It sets the stage wonderfully, yet I’d have been satisfied with that dense little love story as is.

That’s the heart of the movie, Carl’s relationship with Ellie. From the extended first passage to other moments threaded through, it’s only superseded (in time, if not in significance) by his grandfatherly rapport with young Russell, a “Wilderness Explorer” (Boy Scout) and stowaway on the house-in-flight. They each make an animal friend in South America, Russell with Kevin (a rare local bird) and Carl with Doug (a dog owned by a SPOILER). Not entirely unlike the Wizard of Oz, Carl-as-Dorothy takes his flying house and proceeds en route with these three pilgrims. But in a twist on that story, the Wizard is off to see them, and that’s where the movie takes its dark, weird turn.

Turns are fine when they don’t make me ask questions that aren’t otherwise addressed or answered in the film itself. Turns out there were a lot of these, questions or things that otherwise stretched my disbelief too far (way beyond moving a house via balloons). And it left an unwelcome taste, though one that didn’t detract from other character arcs in the movie.

How dare this movie make me feel! I was looking for a breezy, optimistic puff-pastry but ended up with, not to continue the metaphor, an arguably well-balanced movie that evens out the sentimentality of the main plot with a weighty, adventurous side that doesn’t let the entire feature-length ordeal get carried away with itself (sigh).

It’s tough, but I can’t not compare this to Wall-E, Pixar’s previous release. I preferred Wall-E because the story seemed more coherent, the protagonist more charming, the antagonist less random, the world more interesting and engrossing. Up is gorgeously rendered, of course – that almost goes without saying, and is no small feat, and like Avatar, goes so far in earning the whole production its rightful praise. The focus on the older gentleman reminds me of Geri’s Game, the Pixar short film from 1997 in which an old man plays chess with… himself (and whose doppleganger – or something – shows up in Toy Story 2 as a toy repairman). And whatever makes that short film’s depiction of an elderly man so appealing, interesting and compelling, works here also. The drawbacks I see are narrative-related. Up is a very, very good movie, and one I recommend, and one I wish I could have enjoyed more than I did.

3.5 stars

It must have been Netflix that suggested this movie for me – could have been my appreciation of No Country For Old Men that did it. However it happened, I was glad to have seen Shotgun Stories, and I’ll tell you about it.

The movie is set in Arkansas, and starts and proceeds with the relaxed pace of the lives of its main characters. We first meet three brothers, grown men, called Son, Kid and Boy. (Son is nicely played by Michael Shannon, who not only looks like a young, angry David Letterman, but was also Fred – the newlywed destined for Wrestlemania – in Groundhog Day). Their father passes away and it’s at his funeral that we meet another set of brothers – ones called by typical first names – who are the father’s children by his second wife. The father became successful only after abandoning his first family. The argument over how to remember the man heightens this ongoing conflict between the families, and sets the rest of the movie on its course.

The comparison to No Country for Old Men is apt, if a little too generous. There’s an impressive efficiency in the dialogue, for example, that’s refreshing in any script but in this case also underlines the nature of these characters and of their feud. No more is said than is necessary to tell their story, but we also see that the resentment has fed on this silence. We get to see it addressed, finally. The movie’s not scary, but its suspense is built in a similar slow, methodical way. Often there’s a disarming quietness in the air. The direction is straightforward, not too flashy, and that could merely be a by-product of its budget – but I also see the insistence and modesty appropriate and effective for the tone and the characters involved.

It’s when the violence escalates that what just might be the symbolic component in it all really made itself known. To me, broadly, this story cuts right to the heart of religious conflict. The comparison works best without being too specific about the players involved, I’ll admit, but: here we have two sets of children from the same father. They dispute the right way to think of him, wanting to have the only word in shaping others’ perspectives of him. One set of children has been raised to hate the other set, before being old enough to decide for themselves. These men are called to the front line of a fight that wasn’t entirely theirs to begin with, but has ultimately become theirs to deal with. And unfortunately, both sides look to violence before first considering that this conflict may be sooner resolved through cooperation and discussion. But even that solution isn’t easily achieved if it’s in these boys’ nature to be more reticent than talkative. The violence picks up quickly, building on the emotions of many years, and soon these newest generations are fighting to exact revenge for even newer transgressions farther removed from the original disagreement. And buried beneath all of this is hopeful idea that it might just take one person with an idea of peace to open the eyes of those too eager to continue fighting.

3 stars

I’d planned to watch this movie the weekend of my 10th high school reunion, in place of actually going to the reunion. I figured that between watching the movie and catching up with classmates on facebook for the last few years, all my vicarious bases would be covered. Well, my reunion came and went the Saturday of Thanksgiving. Saw some of the lead-up discussion online, saw some of the pictures. Didn’t watch the movie again until recently.

I’m sure I didn’t watch it again because the last time I did, I really didn’t enjoy it. I’ve seen it several times, and I find that I’m willing to suspend a little less disbelief each time. I’m getting older, of course, and that the movie deals with that subject isn’t lost on me. Some movies do not age particularly well – I heard Annie Hall dropped into a conversation about this last week – but I don’t think Grosse Pointe Blank falls into that category. I’m the one who hasn’t aged well. But neither has my initial, most flattering perception of the movie.

Looking back, I could see it making sense to my younger self that I would appreciate the movie even more as I get older, perhaps culminating at the very point at which my graduating class would celebrate its own 10th anniversary. But those things that struck me during this most recent viewing were generally negative. Now, of course, when you see a film a number of times, you may pick up more, or at least different, things each time. But I’ve seen other movies more times, and those repeat viewings deepen and enhance the joy I feel about what I’ve seen, unlike with this one here.

Two small personal notes: The song over the opening credits, “I Can See Clearly Now,” by Johnny Nash, is the first song I listened to my senior year of high school after getting into the school I wanted to attend. Though, unlike Martin Blank (John Cusack), I was not about to kill someone when I heard the first news of my reunion.

My biggest complaints with the movie this time around involve the pacing and, well, the premise itself. Regarding the premise – I know it’s a movie, and I know it’s also a black comedy – but I was put off by just how long it takes, and how much it takes, for anyone to realize Martin is what he says he is. He’s got to be covered in blood holding a freshly used murder weapon for Debi (Minnie Driver, who if I didn’t recently see in a trailer for something might have shrunk and turned into Amy Winehouse) to react (run away at the school), then overreact (in the hotel room, when talking would have done), then underreact (when she rides away with Martin cheerfully at the very end, his having saved her life completely having changed her mind about what he’d done).

I found it somewhat disingenuous that a bunch of glib characters and their precious dialogue would be so shocked at such a reveal. I’d think anyone jaded enough, with an ironic enough stance in their humdrum lives, wouldn’t suddenly remember how to be aghast. Maybe I’m jaded myself.

I also thought the last sequence, from looking at the red dossier to picking up Debi’s father, to the shootout at the house, all goes by quickly and abruptly, as if just to get the two main characters together and off toward the sunset in time for the credits to roll.

And – I thought Martin could be spared the humiliation by not insisting he crash Debi’s radio show, instead waiting for her to be done and talking to her then. But, if that happens, that’s just real life and there’s no movie. But also, for a guy who disappeared for a decade, and who makes his living not being noticed, with a symbolic last name, it sort of doesn’t make sense for him to be so blunt and so conspicuous. A grand sweeping gesture but ultimately not even romantic. So, I believed it up to when the character loses his integrity, which I think is a fair point.

I do find interesting just how often Martin says, “You look good.” Just about everyone he meets again receives that compliment. I don’t know what exactly to make of it – several things, I guess. I like that someone who disappeared has such an interest in other people’s appearances. But in the conversation with his teacher, especially, we see he probably hasn’t changed much – just a very nice guy, ready with a compliment, but ready to kill you if someone’s paid him too. There’s the rub, and a nice juxtaposition.

On that note, I can remember why I liked the movie very much to begin with. Martin’s an interesting, watchable character, for sure. The jokes are still there, and many are still funny. That my perception has changed this much might have less to do with the movie than with me, but, that’s part of it.

Two stars – down ~1/4 star each viewing from Three stars, ten years ago.

Why do we call them movie reviews, and not movie previews? And movie reviewers, not movie previewers? Who are these little chestnuts written for, anyway?

Well, to start, how would I describe a movie review? I’d say it’s something a prospective moviegoer reads to get a sense of what some unseen movie is about, the crux of the plot, a hint of a theme, probably a take on the nuts-and-bolts of it all, the technique or the performances, all of this arranged for explanatory purposes, sure, but also argumentative ones. It’s one person’s judgment of whether a cinematic experience matches or exceeds the value of the money it’d take for another person to get in the theater.

I might also say a review is just about all it takes to ruin that same moviegoing experience. Spoiler alerts notwithstanding, some of the freshness of the surprise is surely drained by reading a review.

Let me try this, then: a hands-off style review of the movie Primer (2004).

I’d never heard of it until I saw an entry about Mindfuck movies on the famous aggregator site kottke.org. Two of the three movies mentioned at the top of the post were Dark City and Memento, so I clicked through to see which others made the list provided by the link. Some I’d seen, some I hadn’t. Further down was the little write-up of Primer. But I didn’t read anything about it. Didn’t watch the trailer. Its title and its place on the list made it interesting enough, and a small note of support at the original post led me to queue it up quickly.

What a great, freeing, unique experience this would be, watching a movie without knowing much of anything about it! I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to know, the premise, who was in it, anything more than I did, which was only that at some point some guy in a shirt and tie would do something or have something happen to him, or probably both. My only thought was that it reminded me of a Pink Floyd cover, which seemed okay to me.

So I watched it. And I’m not going to tell you what happened. But I recommend it.

Unsatisfied with that?

I would be too. Seems pointless, a review like that. But that’s more or less what it’s like to go into a movie with few if any preconceived notions about it. Unusual. So often I’d read seasonal movie previews, watch trailers, IMDb the living hell out of all these new movies so that by the time I ever got around to seeing any of them, I’d already nearly taken the journey upon which the movie is supposed to lead me. The experience was always compromised, though I also actively aided in compromising it.

So, fed up, I stopped watching trailers, and for the trailers of the movies I most anticipated I was doing all I could not to see a second of them except for actually leaving the theatre for those few minutes. Childish, embarrassing, effective things.

Time ticked on. Still I’d read up on new movies. I’d see what projects were in whatever director’s pipeline. And layer upon layer notions and expectations would pile up. And then when I saw a particular movie, the poor thing was fighting at a disadvantage because of whatever expectations I had. Often my assessment of a movie was not of the thing in itself but mostly whether it matched my expectations. Doesn’t seem fair.

But then, experience is part of it. Context, hard as it is for me to admit, is part of it. That which you know might enhance the experience even more than it detracts from the experience. Maybe expectations are part of the joy, when a movie is truly enjoyed. Maybe a movie that doesn’t meet expectations just isn’t very good. Maybe those that get a bum rap are fewer and farther between than I think.

So, after all this: the conclusion I’ve reached is that in my own mind, movie “reviews” are just what they sound like: a writer views a movie, then “re-views” the movie in his mind, writing about it, adjudicating the experience and passing along word of mouth as he or she thinks the movie deserves. They’re not just marketing tools, though they certainly can be. They serve a purpose, and I do think that purpose can shift from person to person. Now, I read one really only after having seen the movie, so I can agree or disagree and in continuing to think about it, also eking a little more out of those ten or twelve dollars than I thought I would. Maybe I’ll write them with an eye towards those more open-minded than I.

Now, what I really thought of Primer, in broad strokes:

It’s a short movie, without a whole lot of time between my hitting play and scratching my head at the end of it. I was satisfied when, maybe a third of the way through, the main characters didn’t even know what was going on. There’s an image on the internet explaining just what the hell happens, and I couldn’t even understand that. But I can say that I understood enough, and it was enough for me to enjoy it, and to recommend it. I don’t always think that movies that require multiple viewings are successful, more often than not it’s just ineffective, unclear storytelling that I’m not able to grasp the first go-round. I’d compare this to Mulholland Drive, a wildly different movie in almost every way except in that I know I like both, I’m pretty sure I can say both are well-made movies, but that I can’t explain either and instead of trying would rather just go back and watch either again right now. To me, that’s a good sign.