That's right -- we've been catching up on our Oscar contending films (hey, one must do their homework -- I personally swear, right here, right now, with you as my witnesses, that if I ever am lucky enough to be an Academy member, or a voting member for any Award society -- knock on proverbial wood -- I will make it a serious duty to see every single film nominated for a major category, even if it means spending some money out of my own pocket, and to thoroughly research the ones I cannot see. After all, we're talking about the high point of someone's career, here -- something that's going to save their life -- and something as morally important as the approval of your peers, so I'd like to make a point of that. I'm ticked off at most award nominations this year -- Emily Blunt acts about as expressively as a slice of tree trunk, and Mark Wahlberg, much as I like him, deserves that Oscar nomination about as much as Lindsay Lohan deserves a Purple Heart -- and I wanted to say I think it's ridiculous. There, Academy members who read this blog. HA!)
Anyway. Right. As usual, in the order that we've seen them in -- the reviews! (Minor spoilers within -- nothing a trailer or synopsis wouldn't have spoiled for you already.)
The Last King Of Scotland -- [Directed by docu director Kevin MacDonald, of Touching The Void fame, the film tells the story of a young Scottish doctor, Nicholas (James McAvoy), who right after graduating goes to Uganda to live the life, see the world, do something different and, well, maybe help out the poor people a little bit too. But right after his arrival, a military coup puts Idi Amin (Forest Whitaker) in power, and through a chance meeting with him, Nicholas becomes his personal physician -- a position in which he will be a prime witness to Amin's strategies, personal riches, and popularity -- but also to his ruthless ways.]
A terrific film. As some of you might know, I personally am a bit of a history buff, so the first time I saw the trailer for this, my Excite-O-Meter shot right through the roof -- especially considering how much of a Forest Whitaker fan I am (Ghost Dog, baby...Ghost Dog), and also how many good things Mare has told me about James McAvoy.
McAvoy is easily the revelation of this film -- if you're not from the UK, like me, his name and face might strike you as vaguely familiar, but if you are from the UK, then you'll know him as the kid from Shameless and the lead of the recently released, hilarious-looking 80s rom-com Starter for 10 (he's also had a small role in Wimbledon, and might have been spotted by some of you in that remarkable treasure mine of young talent known as Band Of Brothers). Here McAvoy impresses, dazzles, and wows -- I personally think his is the hardest part to play in the film since, instead of being a larger-than-life psychopath (it's always "easier" to play broad), he gets the hard duty of having to portray a kid who's irresponsible, selfish, and arrogant, but also a good doctor, with a good heart, and plenty of compassion. Basically, just a regular European kid, fresh out of school, amazingly relatable and likable but not very admirable. It's a part that's brilliantly written, also -- Nicholas is that usual proxy that the audience can relate and identify with, used by the filmmakers to pull us into the story, but in this case, he's neither bland nor dull nor stupid. He fucks up, he tries to fix it, fucks up some more, we care about him, we're angry with him -- he's like a brother we follow into this thing, cursing at him one minute and then rooting for him to get the hell out of there before he gets hurt the next.
And the person who might hurt him, of course, is our good old friend and mass murderer, Idi Amin. I grew up hearing the guy's name around the house, and for a couple years really thought it was just quite a melodious name -- I remember thinking it should be used for a Star Wars character or something. Forest Whitaker delivers here an amazing, amazing, AMAZING performance -- including the accent, the physicality, and the personal menace of the man -- which is truly the linchpin of the film. Considering this is less a straight biopic than a historical thriller, Amin, in film terms, is the baddie -- and Whitaker makes him into a wonderfully creepy, absolutely believable, knuckle-clenching one. He goes from laughing childishly to confiding earnestly to threatening ruthlessly -- all in the same minute of the same unbroken take at times -- and his Idi Amin, a big paranoid bully, is a sight to behold. He's got the fascinating charisma of violence and death, and his relationship with Nicholas is engrossing and fully credible because of it -- you can most definitely imagine that relationship of "trust", and you can also perfectly imagine that that's how Amin treats every single person who crosses his path.
The rest of the cast is also commendable -- Gillian Anderson soberly builds her character, the neglected, resigned wife of a mission doctor, into flesh and bone you can feel for and care about; and Kerry Washington pretty much makes up for The Fantastic Four and Little Man. The true third standout is David Oyelowo (Danny Hunter in Spooks) -- his character is quite simply the one you care the most deeply about, as he's a selfless, thoughtful black doctor in a black country ravaged by black men made ruthless by white ones, struggling against cynicism and despair every step of the way -- the kind of person you would want to be when it comes to your outlook on Africa.
Mention must be made for the filmmakers also. Peter Morgan -- my new favorite writer, the fantastic pen behind The Queen, Longford and the upcoming The Other Boleyn Girl as well as the amazing play Frost/Nixon) -- adapts Giles Foden's novel into the kind of story he does best -- a tense, amazingly cinematic human story, using history not only as a backdrop but as a tool in his plot and the core of his meaning and theme -- here essentially making a thriller about the destruction of Africa. And it actually works. The film is first-of-all a gripping descent-into-hell movie, starting as a drama and evolving into, as I said, a thriller -- but it also manages to make points about black-on-black violence, the influence of developed powers on African politics, and the evils of the negligence and condescensions of the common white man that many Oscar-aspiring dramas and epics fail to even suggest. And the whole thing is obviously brilliantly tied together by MacDonald, who, as a documentarian, knows how to let performances unfold, but also how to capture a flavor and an atmosphere -- his 70s Uganda looks, sounds, and feels real -- but also how to pace his story, how to keep it close to Nicholas, humanly the piece's anchor, and as a result, as the shit hits the fan and things get violently gruesome, it's made all the more powerful by the fact that, like Nicholas, we can sense it but are having enough fun and self-involved faith that we decide not to see it coming -- and when it inevitably does happen...
Like I said, a terrific movie. Wish I could make 'em like that.
9/10
Dreamgirls -- [Directed by Bill Condon, the movie is an adaptation of the Broadway musical, itself a fictionalized version of the true story of Diana Ross & The Supremes and their breakthrough as a Motown band. Deena (Beyonce), Lorell (Anika Rose) and Effie (Jennifer Hudson) are the Dreamettes, a young soul group looking for their big break. They get it when Curtis Taylor (Jamie Foxx), a ruthless manager, offers them to sing backup behind one of his biggest stars, James "Thunder" Early (Eddie Murphy). They agree -- only because Curtis promises them that this'll lead them to having their own act. But as betrayals unfold, it becomes obvious that the only person Curtis is out to help is Curtis...]
To be fair -- a much better film that I thought it would be. I had a particular aggressive bias against this film -- I don't like Jamie Foxx very much (man thinks he's God's gift to...well...everyone), I like Eddie Murphy better when he's a CGI donkey and not a real-life jackass, Jennifer Hudson, from what I've seen of her, annoys the piss out of me, and I don't really think Beyonce can act.
And to be honest -- if there's one thing that movie proved to me, is that that kind of thing just doesn't MATTER -- because in the end, they were all good and all perfectly cast, and regardless of someone's character or personality, if they make the character work, they make the character work.
It's far, far, far from a perfect movie -- it's staggeringly long (or at least, feels that way -- it doesn't need to be 130 minutes), and none of the songs are truly memorable at all (more on that later), except for "Patience" and "And I'm Telling You I'm Not Going", both great, great songs. It's a very fantasy-like, soap opera-ish higher reality of things, and that works for most of the movie, but very often you get the feeling that there's no truth or humanity or flesh or bone or blood hidden all of it -- it's just very pretty and very tragic, but all in wonderful hairdoes and lovely dresses and great, soft, glossy lighting. And, for a musical, it gets incredibly repetitive -- you marvel at the editing and rhythm of it for the first half-hour, but after that, you just start wondering why every song has to be edited the same -- either as a standard montage or with the old camera-spinning-around-two-people-as-they-sing thing -- which not only dilutes the power of the couple of songs towards the end where the technique is used terrifically, but also makes every single song feel like a setpiece, the same way a bad James Bond action sequence feels like a set piece -- "oh, so that's why all of that was happening -- so they could get in front of the mirrors and beautifully SING!"
All that to say: I don't think this is a masterpiece, or worthy of any Best Picture nods anywhere. The film still very much works, though, mainly thanks to the two things: the material (ie, the script, w/o songs) and the acting. The story itself is almost tragedy of Greek proportions -- despite the (un)necessary happy-ish ending tacked onto the end -- and like every good Greek tragedy, it works wonderfully because of the characters, who are all three-dimensional, driven but flawed. Curtis Taylor might trample everyone he comes in contact with, serving himself more than any of them -- but didn't he also raise them all to levels of power and fame that they never would have reached without him? He might not be very far-sighted (in the end, it's people like Effie, the Aretha Franklins and the Smokey Robinsons, that people will remember -- not the dime-a-dozen early Motown sounds), but in the short run, didn't he serve the higher cause of bringing African-American song and art to a wider audience, putting it in the spotlight, getting it the attention, money, and publicity it deserved? Deena might selfishly take her chance at fame, sacrificing her friendships in the process, but doesn't she deserve it in a way too? Isn't she beautiful, a good singer, worked just as hard, and hoped just as much? And sure, Effie's got the best voice, and the true integrity -- but can you really be surprised at what happens to her with the attitude she has? As for Jimmy Early -- the man's got soul, he's got talent, he's got energy, and he wants it to get the recognition and praise it deserves -- can you really blame him, or not empathize with his struggle, when it means he has to sell his soul, and his musical identity, to a slick power-hungry devil?
And so on so forth. And the acting sells it terrifically. The obvious standout, as has been discussed, is Jennifer Hudson as Effie -- she's got soul, she's got balls, and she's going all out. Sure, you could argue it's not that hard a part -- after all, make the film take place in the 1990s, add a bunch of white people and audience votes, and it's pretty much her American Idol story -- but there's a difference between living something and being able to recreate it in front of a camera, take after take after take, for several months, to emerge with as consistent and remarkable a performance as this one. She'd deserve an Oscar if she won it (despite my personal appreciation of her not having changed -- and despite me thinking that Adrianna Barraza might just edge her out and win on the day -- more on that in my Babel review).
The other standout is of course Eddie Murphy, my personal favorite of the show. His character, a James Brown-alike, is full of energy, power, soul, showmanship, and Murphy struts through the film -- but still pulls off amazing moments of human frailty, disappointment, and frustration. He'll win an Oscar for this one too, methinks, and rightly so.
The rest of the cast is equally efficient -- James Foxx is perfect casting as slick slick Taylor Jr., and luckily we never have to listen to him really belting out in song; Beyonce does a solid job as Deena, and the only thing you could criticize her for is her blandness, but then again, that's who Deena's supposed to be; Danny Glover does usual, solid, enjoyable Danny Glover; and Keith Robinson, not much of an actor, does stick out just because of how kind and sweet a man he makes his C.C..
The film is let down, I personally think, by Bill Condon's directing. I for one like what he did writing Chicago, and I like his script here, but I think, as a director, he does to the movie exactly what Curtis Taylor does to his music: he makes it glossy, easy-to-swallow, unremarkable stuff. Every single song here melts into the next one, because they are all played to booming, epic, R&B orchestra arrangements that completely drown any potential uniqueness the songs have; and they are all played over a montage of glossy, poetic, colorful 70s soap opera images. A couple bits, which should be emotional high points in the story (the first singing of "Family" and Jamie Foxx singing to Beyonce that she's his "Dream") fall completely and ridiculously flat, the way they're orchestrated and the visuals they are combined to making them utterly cheesy and laughable. His direction is also often so self-aware of what an amazing show this is supposed to be, that it feels like it's basking in its own supposed awsomeness -- to me, a turn-off.
All in all, Dreamgirls came out, paradoxically, better than I thought it would be, but not as good as it could've been, but still thoroughly enjoyable entertainment, thanks greatly to the performers. (And a quick note to Paramount: considering the subject matter of the film, where we're supposed to feel bad for the more talented fat girl getting screwed and trampled over by the powers that be in favor of the hot bland one, I thought it was very ironic that they did the exact same thing in promoting Dreamgirls. Don't believe me? Take a look at the trailer. Jennifer Hudson has one line in the whole thing, coming 2/3rds of the way through, and has less actual screen time in the trailer than Anika Rose, a considerably lesser character -- and when she IS on screen, it's sitting at home, looking frumpy and grumpy. Also notice how Effie's big song in the film is played to footage of Beyonce dancing, and not Hudson. Still don't believe me? Ever wonder why, despite the obvious fact that Effie is the main character in this film, the only categories she's been pushed for in award competitions is Best Supporting Actress, when Beyonce was pushed for Best Actress (in the same way that, I don't know, Curtis tries to get Effie to sing back up to Deena in the film?)? And if you still, STILL don't believe me -- take a look at the three girls on the Dreamgirls poster. Can you see a fat one? No? All three of them are thin! One of them looks like Anika Rose, and the other two...why, the other two just fucking look like TWO Beyonces in different positions, don't they?)
7.5/10
Notes On A Scandal -- [Barb (Judi Dench) is a history teacher whose whole life is thrown upside down when she witnesses Sheba (Cate Blanchett), the school's new art teacher, having an affair with a young student (Andrew Simpson). At first, she protects Sheba's secret, but soon gets slowly obsessed with it...]
Based on the best-selling novel and adapted by respected theater director Richard Eyre, Notes On A Scandal is pretty much the perfect acting masterclass -- you get to sit back and watch two of the greatest actresses today face off for a couple hours.
The story is properly creepy -- neither of the characters is necessarily likeable (I mean, one of them is a married woman, who cheats on her husband, repeatedly, with a 15-year old; and the other is a judgmental, obsessive blackmailer), but both of them are fascinating -- and their struggle of power and secrets is just as captivating. I don't know if the film really has anything to say about anything -- but as a study of relationships, and as a straightforward psychological thriller, it's right up there with the best. The script is, in that sense, much better than the book -- but in counterpoint, the book was also a deeper, more interesting look at true loneliness, something that the film lacks.
Eyre's direction is perfect in the sense that it stays out of the way -- there's no distracting camera tricks, or manipulative music here. All the small choices are competently handled (casting a kid who looks and sounds like a 15-year old as the object of the affair is what makes the film work -- if the film had chickened out like most others with the same topic and cast Orlando Bloom or Ryan Gosling in the part, then a lot of it would've been laughable), and otherwise, Eyre just seems to stay out of his actresses' way, and rightly so.
Dench and Blanchett are both brilliant -- it's a tribute to their performances that, as terrific as they are, you never cease thinking of the characters as the characters, and not as Judi Dench and Cate Blanchett playing characters. You understand both of them, you empathize with both of them, you despise both of them, and inevitably you can't take your eyes off them.
A fun, grown-up time at the movies. Slightly irrelevant (there's no real message or theme to it, really, and the only thing it teaches us about relationships is that secrets are bad and obsession is creepy...wow, really?), but fascinating nonetheless.
7.5/10
Babel -- [Two shepherd boys, while playing with their father's rifle, accidentally shoot an American tourist in Morocco. A Mexican nanny tries to cross the US border with the kids she's in charge of to go to her son's wedding. And a teenage deaf-mute Japanese girl tries to find some physical contact in her life.]
Alejandro Gonzales Innaritu's third intersecting-stories-about-human-life spans three continents and deals with the age old problem of human communication. It's a moving, inspiring film, and as I write this pretty much the year's foremost Best Picture awards contender.
I have my problems with the film -- mainly that, well, it doesn't make any logical sense. First of all, if a single person involved has a cell phone, none of what we see can happen. Second of all, all four stories are started by the American couple (Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett) being stuck in a small Moroccon town for five days, because the ambulance that was coming for them was stopped by American authorities, who dispatched a helicopter instead, and this supposedly wasted time. Now, how exactly can the US government have any say in a Moroccan hospital sending whatever emergency vehicle they wish to send? And why would the Moroccan authorities obey them? The whole situation also stems from the US calling the shooting a terrorist attack -- something absolutely, completely absurd -- and from Inarritu's treating Morocco like a backward Third World country, which it most definitely is not. There's dozens and dozens of such plot holes in the film (the Mexican nanny takes two kids who are so obviously not hers -- being blonde and pale -- over the border, in a car driven by her drunk nephew, and doesn't even expect that it's gonna create trouble; she has to take the kids over the border because she can't find anyone else to look over them for 24hr days, but she never even asks the kids if they have school friends they could go stay with; the Japanese kid feels alone and alienated, despite having a whole community of deaf-mute friends -- conveniently enough not including any boys; and the whole Japanese story revolves around two policemen looking for the girl's dad, to question him about an issue they could pretty damn simply just call him about. And 247 other plot holes, some more important that these, but that I won't include here, just so as to not spoil the film for anyone who'd like to see it).
The film also has a certain pomposity to it -- a bit of the "look at us, we're telling an important story" syndrome -- and it does get quite repetitive in the way that it ends every one of its segments by fading out the sound of the scene and replacing it with moderno-alienation music, heavy-handedly indicating how everything thematically clicks together (just in case, you know, we were stupid enough to miss it). It also underlines how indie it is by making sure that at least one character in every strand of the story is seen, at one point or another, on the loo -- the cheap, easy, voyeuristic way of saying "look, we're a hard-edged indie film -- our characters poo!" I know. I've seen one of them doing it against a rock -- jerking off in the same time -- I don't need to be explicitly shown that people on all the other continents involved in the story pee and poo too. And I don't even have a college education!
That kind of filmmaking also gets a tad annoying coming from a filmmaker who, so far, has only been able to tell the same bloody story (a freak accident brings three different people or groups of people together, and they face life's harsh realities! Oh-my-GOD!) in all three of his well-known films (that would be this, Amores Perros, and 21 Grams), and all pretty much in the same style -- the grainy film and the shaky camera work and the "edgy" situations and the mix of modern and lyrical music, and so on. They're all good movies, but fuck, mate, you're a long way from being able to afford such self-satisfaction. No one's giving Brett Ratner any awards for making Rush Hour three times.
There's also some amazingly, amazingly distracting cameos in the thing -- there's a couple points where the story's intensity climaxes, and you're suddenly jerked out of it and start chuckling at the completely unexpected sight of Clifton Collins and Michael Pena, the latter looking like he's just stepped off the World Trade Center set and got lost.
But in the end, the film still works, and is a very moving piece, somehow -- probably because of the intelligence and pertinence in what it's trying to say (that the world is as fucked as it is, essentially due to our massive incapacity to communicate properly), and definitely because of the performances involved. Rinko Kikuchi, the talk of awards buzz everywhere, does a fair job -- she isn't necessarily mind blowing, mainly because all she has to do is play cut-off and isolated, and she does so just by looking frigid and sad most of the time. She does it well, but c'mon, there's only so much range to THAT. The standouts, to me, were Brad Pitt (terrific perf., and anyone who can even think about Mark Wahlberg being nominated for Best Supporting awards -- and Pitt not -- without feeling deeply and utterly ashamed and outraged should burn in Hell until Judgment Day comes, and they are condemned to burning some more, in hotter fires), Cate Blanchett (who does a great job of building a strong, credible character despite spending all her time lying down in a near-comatose state), Adriana Barraza (who gets the honor of getting the dumbest character in the film, but also the most decent, and she is involved in the most emotional scenes of the film), Gael Garcia Bernal (as Mare puts it, he never plays on his looks, and doesn't do so here either -- he just delivers a strong, believable character), and Mustapha Rachidi (I think -- who plays Moroccan father Abdullah, a simple, hard-working man, in a simple, hard-worked way). The two Moroccan child actors in the film also put the two American kids (one of them being Elle Fanning, Dakota's little sister) to shame -- the former being natural, energetic, and in the moment; the latter being, well, annoying and mannered. And it's not because that's how they're characters are supposed to be.
In the end, a solid film -- sad, moving, worth watching over and over again, but, again, that could've been much, much better, in an odd way (let's call it the Dreamgirls syndrome). Obvious things could have been improved -- I haven't met anyone yet who hasn't commented on the massive, gaping plot holes -- but weren't. It'll win Best Picture gongs, if only because no one might feel inclined to give them to a film about a family road trip movie (and an all-around better film, if you ask me), and it's definitely worth seeing -- but far from genius, far from the actual best of the year, and far from earth-shattering stuff.
8.5/10
Venus -- [An ageing actor (Peter O'Toole) meets his best friend (Leslie Phillips)'s niece (Jodie Whittaker) and gets taken by her. She's from the country, he's just had surgery that's made him impotent, and so, as could be expected, he shows her around the city, and she, well...turns the dirty old bastard on. Which, somehow, apparently helps him face his own mortality. Something like that.]
Another film which, I think, isn't worthy of all the praise it's getting. Don't get me wrong, it's a good film, but it's only really so because of its three actors -- the directing isn't all that good, the story isn't all it's cooked up to be, it doesn't add that much new to the old-man-and-young-girl genre, and in the end, as Mare annoyingly pointed out after exiting our screening, it does very much feel like the stuff of television specials, and not Oscar buzzy movies.
The story is very much a dirty, sordid affair -- after all, if you look at it with an objective eye, this is the story of a lonely old guy who takes advantage of how supposedly harmless his impotence makes him to flirt with a much younger, greener country thing, kiss her, and even check out her tits. Not that much fun if you think of it. It's something of an interesting affair because of how simply it takes its story -- basically saying, being old, lonely, impotent and incontinent is shit, and whoever you are, if you're in this guy's situation, and this girl walks into your life and you actually like her, and you know you're gonna croak soon, then you'd take one last jab at being young again too. Even if it means doing so through sad, small, irrelevant things -- telling her stories, arguing with her, and, well, seeing her boobies. It even almost celebrates that fact -- this is a guy who loves his life, and enjoys the little things, the little drinks with friends, nights at the theater, and yes, the female body.
That makes the film decent enough -- what elevates it above its material is, as has often been said already, its three leads. Peter O'Toole is the soul of the film, essentially playing a man not too removed from himself, but he does so very well, capturing every little moment of loneliness, of glory, of ecstasy and of pain. His character doesn't have much of an arc at all -- he starts a joyful old bastard and ends a joyful old bastard -- but 80-year olds don't change that much anyway, do they? His partner in crime, Leslie Phillips, is, in a way, the heart of the film -- a softer, gentler presence, near permanently grumpy, but always funny and sweet, and his character "suffers" the most interesting and endearing 3rd act turn. Newcomer Jodie Whittaker is also quite good, and her relationship with O'Toole is entirely believable and natural.
Catch it on DVD or on telly when it gets released (it looks like that's what it was conceived and intended for anyway) and it'll be worth it.
6.5/10
Pan's Labyrinth -- [In the fascist Spain of 1944, young Ofelia (Ivana Baquero) escapes a sad dreary world, over which govern her ill mother (Ariadna Gil) and her sadistic army captain of a stepfather (Sergi Lopez), through a magic labyrinth hidden in the woods]
Pan's Labyrinth is another one of those movies I've been expecting like mad. I'm a big Guillermo Del Toro fan -- from fun stuff like Mimic, to breathing energy and soul into lesser-known comic book heroes such as Blade II or Hellboy, to what I consider his masterpiece to date, The Devil's Backbone. Even his concepts for upcoming films (the Count of Monte Cristo as a western, for instance; or a new live-action Tarzan) always manage to tickle the film geek in me into frenzied excitement -- he's just one of those directors who can do things, visually and lyrically, that no one else can.
So seeing the Pan trailer for me was obviously a thrill -- and fantasies set in the Spanish Civil War era are now turning into Del Toro's specialty (see Devil's Backbone or his upcoming 3993). I also love the concept for the film, the storyline, the visuals -- everything about it. It just felt like one of those films that everyone can relate to and be amazed by, but that Hollywood (or anyone American, for that matter) can do.
And it is just that -- but it's also a very imperfect film, in the sense that it could have all tied up so well, it could have, thematically, been so much more powerful, and it could have been so so easily, but instead, it stays something of a wondrous fantasy, not quite fit for children because of the graphic violence spread throughout, and not quite enough for adults, because it misses the depth it so effortlessly could have had. Essentially, the real world and the fantasy world, in it, are supposed to parallel each other, which they only very vaguely do -- and in terms of what the film is very specifically trying to say, Del Toro is also very unfocused. Most of the film seems to be as metaphor about facing reality, growing up, and making your dreams and your imagination work in a shit, dreary world -- but then, in the 3rd act, it suddenly turns into a lesson about courage and sacrifice (boringly spelled out in so many words by two or three of the main characters, just to make sure we get it).
There's also a couple little annoying plot holes in there -- for instance, Ofelia has to pass certain tests for Pan, the Labyrinth Faun, one of which is to enter an evil creature's lair and steal a key without waking him up -- the trick being that the creature is sitting asleep at the end of a big banquet table, covered in foods, and he will wake up if you eat even the smallest mouthful of any of it. Fair enough -- been there, done that, shouldn't be too hard. Ofelia goes down to the lair right when it's supposed to be her bedtime, so supposedly right after supper; she's in there a grand total of four or five minutes; and the food on the table looks like disgusting stashes of sweaty clay and Play-Doh -- and still, after successfully stealing the key, and as she is seconds away from being outside (ie, close to home, where she can just get some fucking food), AND despite the previous warning from Pan AND the current frantic warnings from the little fairies accompanying her, Ofelia still grabs a couple disgusting-looking black grapes, covered in what seems to be dried semen (you can understand why they'd be irresistible to her), and eats them -- successfully waking up the creature, screwing up the test, and pissing off Pan, which precipitates the whole rest of the story. It's an annoying beat in the story because you know, you just KNOW, that the writer took the easy way out -- there's absolutely no reason to believe that Ofelia, otherwise the strongest willed of people, would suddenly be stupid enough, or enough of a pig, to go for that "food", deliberately knowing it's going to fuck everything up, when there's absolutely no reason to. I know it's supposed to be somewhat like Orpheus (you know, the Greek dumbass who went back to Hell to bring back his dead girlfriend, and was allowed to bring her back to Earth so long as he wouldn't turn around and face her until they were safely under the sun -- and who, lo and behold, resists until the last couple of steps out of Hell, and like an idiot, turns around to see her), but to that I say only two things: a) It's not because guys in loincloths 2,500 years ago bought it that I will; and b) What works as a metaphor of human frailty in that context only works as a weak, predictable, disappointing plot device here.
That aside, it's still a hell of a good time at the movies -- it's a unique vision, that only this director could've cooked up, and you can tell from his pick of time, place, visuals and cast. Those all gel together quite well -- the real world of 1944 Spain, the Spain of guerillas and torture, mixes in perfectly with the fantasy world of Pan and his fairies, mostly thanks to Eugenio Caballero's production design and Guillermo Navarro's terrific lighting, which combine to make both similarly raw and dark, in the same tones of blues and reds. A nod should definitely go to whoever, with Del Toro, conceived Pan, the fairies, the Pale Man, and all other creatures involved in this -- they look awesome, they look frightening, they look unique, they look just damn perfect, and if anyone ever asks me which film creatures I remember best from 2006, then fuck Dead Man's Chest and its CGI Davey Jones -- these guys will stick with me for much, much, MUCH longer.
The cast is brilliant all around, as Spanish casts tend to be. Special mentions are well-earned by Maribel Verdu (of Y Tu Mama Tambien fame), whose Mercedes is the moral anchor of the film, and who brings all the strands of the story together; also by Sergi Lopez, a terrific thesp and personal favorite, who's made his career over the years jumping between French and Spanish films, and is now getting some international attention, and rightly so; and unnoticeable Doug Jones, the new Andy Serkis, the king of motion capture, who did Abe Sapien in Hellboy and several imps in Doom, and will be the Silver Surfer in the upcoming Fantastic Four sequel -- here he portrays both Pan and the Pale Man, in heavy costume and makeup, speaking in a language he doesn't speak, in a film where everybody else speaks the same language he doesn't speak, and he's absolutely terrific. His performance is, when it comes to it, what brings both creatures alive.
Last but not least, I wanted to make a quick mention of Javier Navarrete's tremendous score, simple in its conception, built around a simple, haunting theme -- and the most memorable film score I have heard all year.
8/10
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