The true sadness in La La Land’s ending - and perhaps this generation's too

Much has been made of LaLa Land’s surprising and somewhat divisive ending, a flash-forward which shows that the lead characters, Sebastian and Mia, sacrificed their relationship in order to follow their professional dreams. Though there is healthy debate over whether or not the ending is so sad as to be unsatisfying, the general consensus seems to be that it is simply bittersweet. That, although unexpectedly melancholy, it is ultimately more genuine and fulfilling than the standard happy ending for a Hollywood romance – acknowledging the sadness that comes in losing a lover, but celebrating the greater personal fulfilment of achieving one’s dreams. I don’t see it that way, but I don’t really see it the other way either. In my opinion, the ending of La La Land is terribly sad and disappointing, but for reasons perhaps far more unsettling than the simple dissolution of a fictional relationship. The real tragedy for me, in La La Land’s ending, is the very idea that so many people would consider it happy or even bittersweet and what that means about the understandably confused values and struggles of my generation.

La La Land is an unashamedly American movie. More specifically, it’s an unashamedly Hollywood movie. It wears its influences on its sleeve and with great pride. From beginning to end, director Damien Chazelle makes it clear that his film is a love letter to the Hollywood of both the past and present – a nostalgia-fuelled throwback to old-school screen musicals, romantic epics and screwball comedies, with just a little modern cynicism thrown in and the inklings of a debate as to whether it’s better to try to hold on to things as they are or incorporate them into something new. The many ways in which he reiterates this objective, particularly through Sebastian’s efforts to revive “real” jazz clashing with his band mate’s desire to bring jazz into the modern day, are heavy-handed at best, but serve their purpose well enough. The film’s intentions and artistic influences are very clear. What is less clear, however, but is even more vital to the understanding of the true nature of this film, is the societal influence that the real modern Hollywood and those who inhabit it has on it – a fleeting, transitory existence, born from self-obsession and a compulsive drive to “succeed”, even where success may not really exist.

While La La Land’s intentions may be to present a melding of old and new ideals – the wonder and fantasy of old Hollywood merged with the honest, self-aware realism of modern Hollywood – it succeeds more as a perhaps entirely unintentional portrait of the more binary transition from old to new ideals, and how a changing Hollywood culture has continued to shape the expectations of Western society. In our modern, hyper-critical, social media-driven, “everybody’s got something important to say” world, (believe me, I’m well aware of the irony and hypocrisy of me saying that) we love to look back at old movies and laugh at the now-seemingly frivolous, unrealistic and sometimes outright offensive values they espouse. The neat, “happily ever after” endings, easily distinguishable heroes and villains, idealised romances and straightforward conflicts of a Hollywood gone by bred a generation of people who believed that love and goodwill would conquer all, that things would work out in the end, the good guys would always win and everyone who deserved to would find their one true love and that would be all they’d need in life. Much has been written, of course, about the potentially damaging nature of these unrealistic fantasies, and the difficulty this generation experienced as they came to realise that real life did not match up to their expectations. We are wiser now, more self-aware. We scoff at something like the great drama made over the idea that, if Donna Reed’s character in It’s a Wonderful Life had never met her husband, she would suffer the horrible fate of never marrying and working at the library, (gasp!) as if her life would have no purpose without a husband and as if that is the single biggest conflict she could ever face. We wouldn’t stand for such an insulting implication in a modern film, and rightly so. We know better know.

But do we really? Or have the young adults of today simply been conditioned to believe a different fantasy? One less tantalising, less perfect and therefore, seemingly less unrealistic and more attainable, but no less a construction of make-believe. There’s been a big stink recently about some members of the previous generation – the “baby boomers” – criticising “millennials” for being too entitled and expecting to be rewarded just for showing up. We are the “participation trophy” generation, they say. In my experience, it’s quite the opposite. Most of the people I know my age are fiercely career-minded, goal-oriented and hard-working, even when it comes to their leisure activities and social lives, and many of them highly creative and driven to express their ideas, even in the face of adversity. They work far too many hours for far too little pay, living in homes that are far too small for them, travelling for far too long, sleeping far too little, judging themselves far too much by how other people appear (emphasis on APPEAR) to be living and setting themselves far too high expectations. They want to be managers by 27, business owners by 32, millionaires by 35. They want to visit every continent. They want to speak three languages. They want to climb mountains and run marathons. They want to be ABLE to climb mountains and run marathons. They want to say things that will be heard and more, importantly, listened to. They want to make a difference in the world. They want to build something. They want to know that they exist. And they want other people to know it too.

If there’s one thing about the millennial myth that is true, it’s that we’re a hopelessly self-obsessed generation, which is not to say that we’re uniformly selfish, or callous, or only interested in what benefits us, but that we desperately feel the need to prove that WE matter as individuals, and we’re willing to work ourselves half to death and cut our ties with anything and anyone in order to prove it. What we’ve taken from modern Hollywood culture and the destruction of the ideals of old Hollywood is that life doesn’t just work itself out and you can’t just depend on your relationship with others for personal satisfaction – you need to go out and get it yourself and that takes effort and sacrifice. That’s all true, to a point, but in this desperate quest for “personal satisfaction” and “success”, (terms that are as utterly arbitrary and illusory as “true love” or “happily ever after” ever were) how many of us are giving up on things that make us truly happy to chase things we think we should be going after? We’ve scrapped the old myth of Hollywood fairytale endings, sure, but we’ve replaced it with the myth of Mark Zuckerberg, the self-made kid billionaire Cinderella story that all of us can be if we just dig deep enough, try hard enough and don’t let anything hold us back. This is the new American dream, and we can all still chase it. We can make our own opportunities. We can be successful. We just need to work hard, take things seriously. We need to use our time as efficiently as possible. We have to ignore all distractions. We don’t have time for that now. We’ll do that part later, this is more important for now. Just for now. If we can just make it to this point, get this thing, be this person... then we’ll be okay. Then we’ll be satisfied with who we are and what we have. Then our lives can really start. But what if we never get there? What if there’s no there to get to? And, perhaps scariest of all, what if we get there and we still aren’t satisfied?

Herein lies the true sadness of La La Land’s ending – it reveals itself to be a movie that doesn’t believe in its own story. It tries to hark back to the ideals of old Hollywood, where dreams were real and love really could conquer all, but ultimately, after years of having the new ideals of modern Hollywood shoved down their throats, its own characters just can’t buy what the film is trying to sell them. Now, this in itself would not be a bad ending, if it were INTENTIONALLY PORTRAYED as being tragic in its dramatic irony, with the characters depressingly unaware of what kind of ending they’re really in. But it isn’t. Chazelle clearly intends the film’s ending to be a bittersweet one that, while sad, is ultimately for the best. How do I know this for sure? Because he delivered an ending that was satisfying in its intentionally tragic dramatic irony in his previous film, Whiplash. In that film, ambitious jazz student Andrew Neiman pushes himself obsessively to win the respect of his abusive and manipulative teacher, Terence Fletcher. Andrew is desperate to become a great jazz drummer, because he thinks that will make him somebody and give his life worth. He yearns for admiration, approval and acceptance, and being great is how he’ll get there. He doesn’t really know what “great” is, but he knows Charlie Parker was it. If only he could be like Charlie Parker, then he’d be great too. In 60 years, some kid would be looking up to him. He would exist. He’ll do anything to get there.

Over the course of the film, Andrew grows apart from his loving father, cruelly dumps his new girlfriend, betrays and belittles his friends and peers and endures constant emotional and physical abuse from Fletcher until he literally bleeds for his art. He gives up everything he has for his music – his relationships, his self-respect, his well-being, his entire life. He even moves his bed into the drum room at his college so he can spend all day and night practicing, allowing for only a couple hours of sleep here and there. He’s insulted, attacked, expelled and even hit by a car, but he never stops fighting for Fletcher’s approval; nothing else matters to him. In the film’s climax, Andrew delivers a spellbinding solo performance and finally wins the respect of his mentor. At last, he matters. To Andrew, it is a triumphant ending, a sign that all his hard work and sacrifice has finally paid off, and as the audience, it’s tempting to get sucked into his perception of things. Andrew’s performance IS heart-pounding and electric and you can’t help but get swept up in the excitement. He HAS achieved something... but at what cost? For Andrew and, briefly, the audience, it’s a triumph, but that momentary feeling of exhilaration soon fades away, bringing the full tragedy of the film’s ending into view. Andrew has won the battle, but lost the war. He has gained the respect of the man he so reveres, but Fletcher is not a man who is worth his reverence. He is a bully and a thug. The only real winner is Fletcher – he has finally broken Andrew, who will never again capture another moment of pure joy, who will never feel truly satisfied with who he is, who will always be wanting more, and, by Chazelle’s own admission, ‘will be a sad, empty shell of a person and will die in his 30s of a drug overdose.’ The ending is devastatingly sad, but effective, because the filmmaker and the audience know something that Andrew doesn’t. He thinks it’s a happy ending. We know the truth. La La Land’s ending is just as sad, the only difference is, the majority of the audience seems as blind to this truth as the characters and, more tellingly, so, it seems, does Chazelle.

La La Land does have an opportunity to maintain its ideals and say something worthwhile in its final sequence, where Sebastian plays a reprise of his and Mia’s love theme, and the two, along with the audience, are whisked away into a romanticised fantasy where the two never broke up and achieved their dreams whilst maintaining their relationship. The sequence, which beautifully ties together all of the film’s musical numbers in an abridged, idealised version of its story, is a loving homage to the elaborate third act ballets of classic Hollywood musicals like An American in Paris or Carousel. If the two leads had taken a bow and the film had ended there, it would have remained ambiguous as to whether this was just a fantasy in Sebastian and Mia’s heads, a glimpse of what could have been, or if the magic of the movies had somehow changed their reality, made things as they should be, forgiven their short-sightedness and given them the happy ending they deserved. It would have tied in perfectly with the rest of the film’s tone and themes and I personally would have found it very satisfying. But it doesn’t end there.

The film leaves the fantasy and returns to reality, where Mia is married to another man who we know nothing about, with a son who exists solely as a cheap plot device to stop us from questioning why she doesn’t simply leave her husband for Sebastian. They share a brief look and she leaves, probably never to see him again. The music swells. The End. The film not only dashes Sebastian and Mia’s fantasy, but it denies the audience the opportunity to believe in it either. After two hours of championing the power of dreams and art, the magic of music and Hollywood, the need to believe there is still hope and joy in this modern, cynical world, the movie limply announces its own impotence and shrugs, ‘Eh, what are you gonna do? That’s life.’ Imagine if, at the end of Grease, John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John got into their car, drove off into the sky... and then crashed back down to Earth and died. Because cars can’t fly. This is real life. The ending to La La Land is as plainly defeatist and unsatisfying.

The thing is, Chazelle is obviously well-versed enough in the world of old Hollywood to know that the main crux of his ending – the two romantic leads don’t end up together – is not a new idea. Despite the prevalence of the aforementioned “happily ever after” myth, not every classic Hollywood romance does have a happy ending. Casablaca is perhaps the most famous instance of this, and it’s clear from the references to it throughout the film that Chazelle is purposefully calling on that a little in his ending. Suffice it to say, La La Land is no Casablanca, as while that film acknowledged the sadness in its own conclusion with great self-awareness, La La Land does not. Oh, sure, it acknowledges sadness in its conclusion, but not its own. The sadness acknowledged in La La Land’s ending isn’t in La La Land’s ending. It’s in Casablanca’s, Gone With the Wind’s, Roman Holiday’s, but not here. Just like Andrew Neiman, La La Land is tragically unaware of how sad the ending to its story really is. Because it’s not about a relationship that just didn’t work out and it’s not about two people who had to make a sacrifice to find greater personal gratification, it’s about a feeling of emptiness that has permeated a generation, leading some to forgo things that might really matter to them and that they might not have had to, as part of an elusive, unending quest to feel successful and fulfilled as an individual; a quest they feel requires them to shed everything that doesn’t fit the plan. If it doesn’t fit the plan, then it wasn’t meant to be. If it wasn’t meant to be, then it’s not worth fighting for. Don’t worry about it. You just do you. Keep moving forward. Stick to the plan.

Just before the film’s climax, Mia returns to the coffee shop where she used to serve famous actresses and dream of being them. Now, at last, she is the famous actress, and we are expected to revel in her triumph – she’s finally made it. Why? Because she’s recognised in coffee shops now? Her face is on some posters? Now she’s one of the special people, not just an ordinary nobody working an ordinary job? Her “victory” feels as hollow and temporary as Andrew’s. There is no chemistry between her and her new husband and son, who we barely see for five minutes and know nothing about. I don’t think the son is even given a name. Their relationship, for what little we see of it, comes off as sterile and joyless. Similarly, there is no satisfaction or triumph in Sebastian’s eyes as he desperately tries to reach the woman he clearly still loves with his music and fails, only sadness and regret. The film tells us that they both have everything they ever wanted, even if they’ve lost each other. They made the mature, realistic decision; staying together just wasn’t feasible. They stuck to the plan. They are okay now. It’s all going to be okay. It attempts to convey this with a sense of wisdom, self-awareness and confidence, but does so entirely unconvincingly and with a pitiable air of obliviousness. La La Land thinks it strides offstage triumphantly, with self-assured purpose, but it shuffles off awkwardly, like a frequently drunk friend at a party who insists he has things under control now, he’s got it all figured out, he’s going to be all right. And you smile and nod and tell him you’re happy for him, but when he stumbles out of the door at two in the morning, you turn to your partner and say, ‘I’m worried about him.’

The message that the movie is trying to get across and the one that most people seem to have taken from it (and of course, I’m not saying that they’re wrong or that my interpretation is the only true one, this is just what I got from it) is that personal ambition and self-love is what’s really important, and sometimes you have to sacrifice things for the sake of what you want to achieve in life, even if it’s painful. And that’s all fine and good advice. But, to me, the message that actually comes across, intentionally or not, one that is so tied to the culture I see reflected in so many of my friends and peers, is that you MUST prioritise vague ideas about personal fulfilment and professional development above all else and that everything else in life can wait until you get to where you need to be. That’s the only way you’ll ever feel good about yourself. As far as I’m concerned, that’s just another Hollywood lie. We just don’t recognise it yet.

Time and again, we are fed the same old morals, hear the same old refrains: “How can you love someone else if you don’t love yourself?” “You can’t be in a relationship until you’ve figured out your own stuff.” “If it’s that hard to hold on to, it wasn’t meant to be.” “There are more important things in life.” But how true is all that, really? Sure, we should all be happy with who we are and accept the things about ourselves we cannot change, but who really, honestly, loves themselves? Is purely content in their own company? Should we even want to be? Who ever completely “figures” themselves out? Do we really know who we are, what we want, what’s best for us? Is it even possible to really know those things? Or, when things go wrong, do we just tell ourselves that we really wanted something else, that it was the right move not to try and hold onto that one thing, because it’s easier that way? Because it means we don’t have to struggle, or feel pain or regret, we can just keep moving forward, towards our goal. Who reaches that goal and says, ‘That’s it, I did it. Now I can just be happy and live my life.’ Nobody. Because that isn’t how life works any more than perfect happy endings with the good guys always winning and swelling music and elaborate ending titles is. That’s just the movies. I see so many wonderful, smart, warm, imaginative people my age who are unsatisfied, lost, confused, repeating these refrains to themselves over and over. And sure, it might end up being true for some of them, but what about when it isn’t? And when I think about all the people who applauded this movie and this ending and who see reflections of their own lives in it and think it says something true and real about how life is “supposed” to be lived, I can’t help but think about Andrew Neiman, in his 30s, sad and unfulfilled and regretful and alone and gone far too soon. And there’s nothing bittersweet about that. It’s just sad.

email: joetalksaboutstuff@gmail.com

Twitter: @JSChilds

Death, rebirth and beauty in Disney's Firebird Suite

This has been a year fraught with fear, uncertainty and violence. Far, far too much violence. While there has of course always been conflict and unavoidable tragedy in life, to many it feels like we have crossed a line somewhere. That now, the violence and tragedy within which we so often find ourselves seems to all have been entirely avoidable and yet, despite the same signs and the same warnings, these tragedies are allowed to occur again and again, with alarmingly increasing regularity. And every time one strikes, it feels like the world becomes a little more ugly, cold and lonely.

These thoughts crossed my mind while watching the closing segment from Disney’s mostly-forgotten Fantasia 2000. Set to Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite, the animation charts the story of a playful nymph that brings a forest out of winter and into spring, only to cause its decimation by inadvertently awakening the destructive firebird through her celebrating.  Though from the turn of the millennium, it has a timeless feel, harking back to ancient Greek myths, as well as Disney’s own The Sorcerer’s Apprentice segment from the previous Fantasia, with its themes of discovery, hubris and the dire consequences of playing God. Like Pandora’s Box or the fables of Aesop, it functions as a parable, ‘Be careful what you mess with, because once the box is opened, you can never close it back up again.’

It is a beautiful piece of animation. Visually and musically, an absolute marvel, on par with anything from the original Fantasia or beyond. There is a sense of real life to it that very little animation truly manages to capture; very little art in general, for that matter.  Each frame bursts to life as if first appearing in the artist’s imagination. Perhaps that’s what’s so wonderful about it, that it has a power to touch us as if we are all experiencing it for the first time. Or maybe it’s just cos of how nice it’s painted. Either way, it is a wondrously untainted moment, and a gift, I think, that the animators give to us. It’s one that I cherish, in bad times and good.

Over 15 years later, this piece is still as touched with the joy of creativity as any great piece of art since the dawn of man. Its themes are eternal – death and rebirth, joy and fear, arrogance and shame. It shows us that no matter how high we fly, we have just as far to fall. But in turn, no matter how far we fall, we can always pick ourselves up from the ashes and fly again. The nymph sits in the ashes of what she has helped destroy, no longer able to see the beauty that she once helped create. With the help of her friend, the deer, she casts off her shame and looks to the future – to new life. There is beauty left in this world, after all, if we’re willing to see it and maybe, give it that little help it needs to flourish. I hope, in the face of everything, we can remember this.

What Happened To Eurovision?

When Belgium opened this year’s Eurovision Song Contest, I was pleasantly surprised. Having felt that the last couple years had been growing increasingly more dull and less energetic, this fun, silly, if slightly subdued disco-inspired number had me optimistic for the rest of this year’s offerings. That goodwill soon faded, however, after what followed was wave after wave of tedious, sappy, lifeless ballads, culminating in a win from yet another utterly uninspired and ball-achingly dull performance. This is a trend that’s been slowly emerging over the last few years, and now, finally, seems here to stay. Perhaps without many of us realising it, the campy joy of Eurovision has been displaced by a mawkish over-sentimentality and a laughably misplaced sense of self-importance. What happened to the camp? What happened to the fun? What happened to this? What happened to Eurovision?

Eurovision has always been famous for its colourful costumes, exaggerated staging, energetic choreography and corny, Europop music – best represented by acts like the charming and incestuous ABBA and the UK’s own Bucks Fizz, who appeared to be an attempt at creating a genetic hybrid between ABBA and the cast of Tiswas that went horribly right. Though these performances might seem a little tame in comparison to the levels of camp that Eurovision would reach in the 2000s, the same elements are there – the costumes, the colours, the choreography, the crap singing (okay, ABBA are pretty good but I wanted another word that started with c). The only difference is, this sort of fashion and style was commonplace in the late-70s and early-80s. What made Eurovision in the 90s-onward so unique, was that, even in the year 2007, it still looked like it was taking place in the late-70s and early-80s.

And so, Eurovision found its purpose and its place. Long-lasting accusations of the contest’s voting system being highly politicised and not really about the music has meant that Eurovision is rarely taken seriously as an actual music competition (at least, not in most of the major European countries). Therefore, instead of putting forward “real musicians” to represent them, many countries opt to put forward “joke acts” that are designed to catch the audience’s attention through bright, extravagant costumes and exciting choreography, rather than impress them with their musical stylings. Though this might sound like most acts in Eurovision are a bit of a write-off, on the contrary, this is exactly what makes them special. These acts take their performance seriously, but do not take themselves seriously. They are willing to go out and do things that most “real musicians” would refuse to do, out of a fear that it would make them look silly. As a result, Eurovision provides us with joyful musical performances just intended to entertain, rather than establish a brand, sell a product or make a statement, allowing us Brits to experience types of music we don’t hear very often and for the world at large to see types of entertainers that would not normally be deemed aesthetically appropriate. In no other musical event would a group of old Russian women dressed like Strega Nona be allowed to go on stage, but suddenly, in Eurovision, it becomes a possibility. They may not be the best singers, but they are fully committed to their performance, they have no sense of ego or pretention and their honest enthusiasm is infectious.

This is the charm of Eurovision – a weird, wonderful and unique experience you can’t get anywhere else that isn’t afraid to poke fun at itself and doesn’t feel the need to try to make a statement and change the world. At least, that’s what it used to be. But times have changed. Dramatic power ballads have been a staple of Eurovision for a while now, but they have remained buffered by a large collection of corny Europop music, allowing them to still maintain a sense of goofy likeability and not bleed into the style of the contest as a whole. In the last few years however, these ballads have come to dominate the contest. This culminated in the victory of Conchita Wurst in 2014, whose win not only sounded the death knell for the campy Eurovision of the past, but also began the rise of a whole new type of power ballad. Yes, no longer could Eurovision just be about fun songs and stage presence, now it had to make a statement.

The success of Conchita Wurst in the face of the great amount of homophobia that still lingers in Europe and, in particular, in the face of the violent homophobia in Russia that had been heavily publicised during that year’s Winter Olympics, lent the song a sense of political power. The overwhelming success of the song and the emotional chord it seemed to strike with people immediately affected the way in which Eurovision was approached, and the last two years have been replete with copycats attempting to replicate this success. Gone were the sweet old Russian women, now everyone had to look like a supermodel or member of a boy band. Gone were the goofy costumes, now the men must wear expensive suits and the women, luxurious dresses which we can hopefully project some kind of graphic onto. Gone was the elaborate staging and fun choreography, now everyone must stand perfectly still in the centre of the stage while we show some shitty effects on the screen in the background. Gone was the playful self-awareness and willingness to embrace the absurd, now we must all respect the force for political change that Eurovision can be and the sheer musical talent of all these performers, even though the vast majority of them still couldn’t carry a note in a bucket the size of Engelbert Humperdinck’s head.

While, of course, there are still a few holdovers from Eurovision’s former style, these are few and far between and it’s difficult to maintain enthusiasm for them and get excited when (or if) they finally do arrive when you have to sit through 20 identical, sleep-inducing ballads to get there. This year’s winning song, from Ukraine, displayed all these now tried-and-tested elements for success – an emotional power ballad with a politicised theme, a beautiful performer in a long, flowing dress, standing in the centre of the stage as rubbish effects that wouldn’t impress someone who enjoyed Batman v Superman swirl around the stage in typically lifeless fashion. Its strong win (at over 500 points) has solidified the way Eurovision has been headed for the last few years and says, perhaps a little sadly, with a mournful sigh as they take off their silly hats and put away their turkey puppets, ‘I guess this is the way things are now.’ This was even reflected in the show’s interval, which featured Justin Timberlake being...  Justin Timberlake, as if to say as loudly as possible that this is what Eurovision wants to be now – cool, hip, musically-respected, to be taken seriously and thought of as trendy and in-fashion, not corny, not unconcerned with its image and, perhaps most of all, not just good old-fashioned fun.

Is it over-dramatic to be so disappointed by the death of a song contest which featured talking turkeys, a person of indeterminable gender dressed as an aluminium Christmas tree and Jedward? Twice? Probably. But I don’t know, I think that’s kind of the point of Eurovision isn’t it? Jedward, an act so utterly reviled they weren’t even considered good enough for The X-Factor (the show which, bear in mind, gave us this swaggering prick) found a home here. Their tuneless singing, ridiculous over-acting and humourless shtick which would probably be rejected by Butlins, not only seemed suited to Eurovision, but was actually a lot of fun. This was the heart and soul of Eurovision. They didn’t need to clutch onto this purpose as a vehicle for political change in Europe, they already had a purpose – to give a home to acts that had nowhere else to go. The result was a colourful collection of refreshingly individual misfits and a night of honest and unpredictable entertainment that simply wanted to do that – entertain. And I think that, in this increasingly cynical, depressing and homogenised world, to lose that is a very sad thing, and representative of a much greater loss than many of us might realise.

R.I.P Eurovision. At least we’ll always have the memories.

53. Frozen (2013)

With the success of Tangled, Disney decided to finally finish another fairy tale movie that had been in development for a long time, The Snow Queen, later renamed to Frozen. The result would be Disney’s most successful movie of all time; I don’t need to tell anyone how big Frozen was, everyone heard about this monster hit which is still going strong a full year after its initial release. People love the songs, the characters, the dialogue, everyone seems to love it and they all seem to love everything about it. Inevitably, the final product can’t possibly live up to this hype, which is fine, but what bothers me about it is this bizarre school of thought which has cropped up that Frozen reinvented, subverted and revolutionised Disney tropes in a way no Disney film has before. Despite what some people might have you believe, this is simply not true and the film is not without its flaws, either; in fact, on a purely structural level, it’s a bit of a mess. The interesting questions then, are how, despite these issues, is Frozen so likeable? Why has it gone on to become one of the biggest movies of all time? And why are people crediting it for achievements and milestones it didn’t accomplish?

The film’s visual style (as well as a few other things but we’ll get to that in a bit) owes a lot to Tangled, incorporating the same blend of traditional and computer animation which that film so wonderfully perfected. The character designs are remarkably similar, Anna in particular is basically just Rapunzel with some freckles and a different haircut and the general design of the movie just screams Tangled. While a bit lazy and unimaginative, one can hardly blame Frozen for copying Tangled’s style, it is such a visually appealing one, after all; where it cannot be forgiven is in the corners it cuts. The big picture of Frozen’s visuals and animation is solid, but it is the finer details where we can see a lack of attention; the quality of the lighting and textures are nowhere near up to the same level as Tangled, things look much more simplistic in comparison and thus, not nearly as alive. The character animations are also weaker – with the exception of Anna, who is animated very well – by the standards of most Disney movies, they’re still pretty good, but compared to the incredibly expressive characters of Tangled, it’s not up to snuff. The backgrounds are good, but too samey, every scene is set in only a couple of locations and almost always in the snow; while the winter colours are beautiful, there’s only so much white and blue you can look at before you get bored, unlike Tangled’s wider range of environments and varied colour palette. It might seem unfair to constantly compare Frozen to Tangled, but the former obviously owes so much of its visual style to the latter that it not only justifies but necessitates the comparison; by all means, Frozen is still a very good looking movie, but it’s a little disappointing that it doesn’t look nearly as good as its predecessor from three years prior.

Our gallant heroes

Frozen also owes a great deal of its narrative and tone to Tangled, right down to the very fact that it was renamed from a traditional fairy tale title to a single, punchy adjective for marketing purposes. The story follows – and stop me if you’ve heard this one – a naive and optimistic young girl who spends her childhood locked away, with very little human contact. As she approaches adulthood, she finally leaves the confines of her home and goes on an adventure, teaming up with a surly, self-involved man who is begrudgingly forced to help her on her journey. Along the way they get into a bunch of wacky situations and slowly fall for one another SOUND FAMILIAR YET? Yes, in both style and substance, Frozen is, effectively, Tangled in the snow; the story does eventually take some different turns, of course, but it’s obvious that the writers took inspiration from Tangled while crafting the core of this narrative, as well as the film’s tone, characters and sense of humour.  Frozen does try to be a little ambitious with some aspects, but finds itself out of its depth; for example, the writers seems to think that Anna and Hans’ “relationship” serves as a clever deconstruction of the weak and rushed romances of early Disney movies, such as those between Cinderella and Prince Charming, by repeatedly noting how ridiculous it is for Anna to get engaged to Hans after only knowing him for a day and in the end, having her discover that he’s not the man she thought he was after all. 

There are a number of reasons why this doesn’t really work: firstly, this simply isn’t something which actually needs to be addressed or deconstructed anymore, the old cliché of princesses and princes falling in love at first sight and getting engaged the day they meet is something that only really existed in very early Disney films, before dying out completely in The Little Mermaid, a film released almost thirty years before Frozen; consequently, Frozen’s subversion of the idea seems utterly irrelevant, considering this isn’t a problem that’s around anymore. Secondly, other Disney films, particularly those of the Renaissance such as Beauty and the Beast and Aladdin, had already acknowledged the problems of this cliché and rectified them in their own, much more subtle and effective way; other than that, plenty of other films and TV shows have mocked, subverted and deconstructed it, so Frozen’s efforts just feel wasted, being neither timely nor strong enough to excuse this fact. Thirdly and perhaps the biggest fumble of them all is the fact that, by the end of the film, Anna and Kristoff get together, also after only knowing each other for a day; no they’re not engaged, but it’s made clear that they share “true love” despite barely knowing each other, so the movie completely nullifies its own point that you can’t be in love with someone you just met. What’s even stranger is that this whole idea barely ties into the central story or themes of the film, making it baffling as to why it was even included at all, considering its lack of timeliness, relevance, effectiveness, or consistency with the rest of the film’s themes and plot points. 

The film also stumbles in its attempts to subvert the classic scenario of a hero saving a princess with an act of true love (again, something that isn’t really relevant in Disney movies anymore) by having it be the love between two sisters which saves the day, not lovers; a perfectly fine idea, but not only have we already seen the strength of love between family and friends and not just lovers many times in Disney movies, but the issues with the film’s pacing – which I’ll get to momentarily – mean that it doesn’t ring true. Anna and Kristoff spend about as much of the film together as Anna and Elsa and they are the ones who go through conflict together, who help each other, get to know one another and learn things about one another; to the characters in the world of the film, maybe Anna and Elsa know each other a little better having shared years in the castle together, but to the audience, the relationship that WE see develop is the one between Anna and Kristoff, not Anna and Elsa, so to us this makes no sense. This makes this last minute switch not a satisfying resolution to Anna and Elsa’s relationship, so much as an arbitrary attempt for the film to have its cake and eat it too, keeping a traditional Disney romance, but also making a point about feminism and sisterly love or something and how that’s more important than romance. These things just seem to be there to try and make it look like Frozen is doing something smart and innovative, but instead it just makes it look amateurish.

Cold as ice

Pacing is another big problem for the movie, as while the central concept and the parts which focus on Anna’s adventure (that is to say, the parts taken from Tangled) are fun, the film struggles to find an identity outside of that and throws out far too many ideas, none of which are given the time they need. The story jumps around so much that it almost feels like three or four different movies in one and each one feels far too rushed; one minute it’s about two very different sisters and their deteriorating relationship, the next it’s about a young girl’s adventure and how she finds love along the way, the next it’s about an outcast trying to come to terms with her place in a society, then it’s about political rivals scheming to take control of another land, there is simply way too much going on here. Ostensibly, the movie is about Anna and her journey to find Elsa, but when you look closely this doesn’t comprise much of the story at all, no more than any of the other numerous plots, anyway. Characters and stories drop in and out of being important constantly – Elsa is effectively the deuteragonist  in the first act, before disappearing almost completely in the second act and being replaced by Kristoff; then, in the third act, Kristoff falls completely out of focus while Elsa practically becomes the movie’s protagonist out of nowhere, at Anna’s expense. 

This means that, with the exception of Anna, who only really falls out of focus a little towards the end, we never really get to know these characters very well and, more importantly, they don’t get to know each other very well, which becomes a problem when the film acts as if they do. After spending barely fifteen minutes together, Kristoff is already so determined to save Anna’s life that he’ll risk his own for her and after another ten minutes, he’s fallen deeply in love with her; though we’ve seen Disney characters fall in love in short spaces of time, when the film is paced properly, it can still make us believe in these relationships. Rapunzel and Flynn, for example, fall in love after only a couple of days, but it’s because these characters are so well defined and because we spend so much time with them together that we believe in their relationship, because we truly see it unfold before our eyes; Anna and Kristoff simply aren’t given the time or focus, due to the film’s inability to decide what it wants its main story to be. I don’t believe that Anna and Kristoff are in love when I’ve barely seen them share any time together, nor do I feel especially close to Elsa or Olaf; the characters are just thrown together and expected to work, but it simply doesn’t – you can’t fake these kinds of bonds, they need to be earned.

Frozen should’ve just followed one plot, namely, Anna’s quest to find Elsa, where we watch her grow into a more confident and mature young woman and develop a legitimate relationship with Kristoff, while occasionally cutting away to Elsa, who should have served as the villain (more about that later) before being redeemed in the end. Instead, we have to deal with a whole subplot about Hans secretly being a villain as well as another tedious subplot about political subterfuge with the Duke of Weselton, whose character is COMPLETELY POINTLESS. This has a two-fold effect: firstly, it renders Elsa’s story arc meaningless, as despite the first act building her up as the villain, with her finally accepting her role as the monster and the outcast in “Let it Go”, this never goes anywhere because there isn’t enough time to have both her and Hans develop as villains, leaving her without a role to play for the majority of the film. Secondly, it means we have to keep cutting back to Arendelle to see Hans, the Duke and the townspeople, characters we don’t care about at all in a situation that isn’t interesting; this entire subplot is boring and harms the movie in more ways than one. Again, the film should’ve just stuck with the central idea of Anna’s journey to find and redeem Elsa, it wouldn’t have been anything all that original but at least it might have worked; instead, the film’s attempts to be clever backfire and it loses the opportunity to have a sympathetic and morally ambiguous villain, additionally rendering Elsa’s character and Anna’s brief journey to find her utterly inconsequential.

The best shot in the movie

The film’s characters are likeable, if, as said before, not well developed. The main couple is once again, taken from Tangled, Anna is like Rapunzel in almost every way, sweet, optimistic, isolated and a little socially inept but somehow she manages to charm everyone she meets. Anna is clearly an attempt to recapture Rapunzel’s endearing awkwardness, but at times it comes off as a little too forced; you can definitely tell that this was an outside decision rather than something inherent to the character and her awkwardness is initially played up to the point where, instead of being sweet, it becomes excessive and distracting. This is only really the case in the first act, however, after which things fall into a nice groove and the writers seem to get a better grip on Anna’s character; she still shares a lot with Rapunzel, but does manage to forge somewhat of an identity, her ditzy clumsiness being her most unique and endearing trait. Despite a few hiccups early on, Anna is sweet, charming (you can’t take this much from Rapunzel and not be) and is allowed to engage in a style of comedy that few other Disney princesses are; she’s definitely the best thing about the film. Appropriately enough, Kristoff is basically just Flynn, the only noticeable difference being his character design, and that he’s a little more negative and less fun-loving. Like Flynn he is a selfish, sarcastic loner who finds other people troublesome and is annoyed by the perky, naive protagonist but ultimately his heart is warmed by them; the foundation of Kristoff’s character is perfectly solid, but sadly he’s not given enough time to develop anything on top of that to distinguish him from Flynn in any way, a shame, because I think the idea of him being an isolated loner unused to human interaction could’ve made for some strong characterisation, as seen when he first meets Anna in the store. Unfortunately, this aspect of his character is quickly skipped over to make him friendly to Anna as soon as possible; if the film had focused more squarely on Anna and Kristoff’s adventures, this development could’ve been slower and more natural, allowing us to see more of Kristoff’s “Mountain Man” personality as well as a more believable growth of their romance, but as it is, he’s just okay.

Elsa is BORING, all she does is frown and whine, she’s barely any fun at all. What’s most disappointing about her is that the way things are set up, it looks like she’s going to be the film’s villain and an interesting one at that – an emotionally stunted outcast who, after being rejected for something she has no control over, turns against the world who shunned her. However, none of this build-up ever goes anywhere and Elsa spends most of the film out of focus or, in the few moments she’s actually onscreen, pacing around and moaning about how she can’t control her powers over and over again. This is especially weird considering how much focus is placed on this build-up, culminating in the very big and showy “Let it Go”, which kind of acts as her villain song, establishing that she’s going to use her powers however she wants and doesn’t care who gets in the way anymore, instilling her with a new sense of confidence; she even gets a costume change to highlight this! But when we next see her, she’s suddenly meek and unsure of herself again; this reflects the original intent to have Elsa be the film’s antagonist and doesn’t work for what she eventually became. Ultimately, I think Elsa is disappointing, she could’ve been an interesting and relatable antagonist with a strong connection to the protagonist, but instead she’s just a dull plot device to get the story moving; honestly, she doesn’t need to be there at all, the eternal winter could’ve easily been spawned by some kind of monster or natural magic and if you take that away from her, she doesn’t really have anything else to her. Elsa’s character is actually pretty pointless when you think about it. Olaf is appropriately cute and cuddly, despite his rather... unappealing design; he could have very easily been “The Hooter” of this movie and I certainly expected him to be, another goofy, magical creature sidekick who acts as the comic relief, he ticks pretty much all the boxes. Yet I was surprised by how little he got on my nerves, perhaps because of the fact that, instead of being loud and obnoxious, as so many of these types of characters are, Olaf is actually rather quiet and subdued, which lends itself better to some of his strange and scatterbrained behaviour; he’s hardly a laugh riot, but he’s fun enough and certainly could’ve been a lot worse. 

Hans is a bit of a mixed case, on the one hand the reveal of him as the villain is actually genuinely surprising and effective and he proves himself to be appropriately devious and cold, but on the other hand he spends most of the film faking a generic heroic role which is very boring to watch; the twist just comes a little too late in the game to really take full advantage of it, as the scene where Hans reveals his intentions to Anna and cruelly taunts her is a strong one, but after that he doesn’t really get much to do. Ultimately, I think Elsa should’ve been the film’s villain or, if they had to go with Hans, they should have tied him into the rest of the story better and had him be more directly behind the bad things that had been happening to the heroes, rather than having him be a selfish opportunist who just happened to get lucky and ran with it. The Trolls are insanely annoying, in the same way as the Gargoyles in The Hunchback of Notre Dame, only far, far worse; they feel like they’re out of a completely different movie, their designs don’t match the rest of the film’s, nor does their sense of humour or even the song they sing, I really don’t know what Disney were thinking when they put these guys in here. Even though they’re only in one scene, they’re so incredibly irritating that it really does a lot more damage than it should; an entire legion of little “Hooters”, one can only be grateful that these cretins aren’t around for long.

Elsa in a typically good mood

Frozen is another traditional musical, with a large selection of songs, mostly good, some not so good. The film opens with “Frozen Heart”, a rather dull number which feels a little out of place; it puzzles me that such a mediocre song was included at any point in the film, let alone the beginning, as it doesn’t do anything a good opening number should, quite the opposite, dulling enthusiasm from the very start and not setting a good tone for the rest of the film. “Do You Want to Build a Snowman” is a nice song with a good rhythm; it’s nothing special, but certainly acts as a much better opening number that helps get you into the world of the film and its characters. Soon afterward we have “For the First Time in Forever”, which is so similar to “When Will My Life Begin” from Tangled that it’s almost laughable, but it’s not a bad song, though it does feel like yet another opening number, which makes the film’s first fifteen minutes seem overstuffed. “Love is an Open Door” is a fun, if simple song; it’s nothing spectacular, but it’s got a good rhythm and some clever rhymes, I like it a lot. 

“Let it Go” is of course ridiculously overplayed, but it is still a genuinely a good song; I do think it feels a bit out of place with the rest of the soundtrack, being more of a big Broadway number that would be more at home in something like The Hunchback of Notre Dame – you can definitely tell it was written with Idina Menzel in mind, as it very much resembles the kind of songs she is famous for singing, particularly “Defying Gravity” from Wicked, with which it shares lyrical themes, as well as a similar sound. Ultimately, however, this proves to be a strength more than a weakness; “Let it Go” is the film’s showstopper and a great one at that. “Summer” is one of the more clever songs, with some delightfully playful lyrics and genuinely funny imagery, it’s short, but sweet. “Fixer Upper”, on the other hand, is painfully bad; it’s completely unnecessary, adding nothing to the film’s story or characterisation and is then totally brushed off literally the second it ends so I don’t even know why it’s here in the first place. The tune is admittedly a little catchy, but the lyrics are so repulsively bad it makes the song hard to enjoy; the songwriters obviously thought they were being very witty and clever with these line choices, but they reek of smug self-satisfaction and just aren’t funny at all. Add to that the fact that it’s sung by the awful Troll characters and you have a pretty bad song. Frozen has a few too many songs for its own good, shoehorning them in where they aren’t necessary, seemingly just for the sake of it and they’re very badly spread out, almost all clustered in the first act, rather than spaced evenly throughout the film. Even so, the songs that are good are very good and it’s clear that the songwriters put a lot of effort and love into writing these songs, even if they aren’t all winners.

DIE

Frozen is a movie I have mixed feelings about; on the one hand, I did enjoy it a lot and had a good time watching it, but on the other I couldn’t help but see the film’s many flaws and missed opportunities and at times it took me out of the movie. I’m pleased that this has been such a success for Disney and that’s it’s bringing in critical respect and a wider audience that had lost interest in Disney films, but it frustrates and disappoints me that this film’s huge surge in popularity hasn’t led to people looking back to older or more obscure Disney films they might have missed, which they’re now willing to give a shot because of how much they enjoyed this one, but instead, there has emerged this strange and false attitude that this is the only Disney film that’s been any good in a long time. I have seen phrases like ‘best Disney movie in twenty years’ or ‘first good Disney movie since The Lion King’ bandied about in reviews and around the internet and it puzzles me, Frozen isn’t even the best Disney movie in three years; of course this is subjective, but to make such sweeping, ill-informed statements means that a lot of good Disney movies that were released after a certain point are going to fade even further into obscurity and considered no good – the world at large seems to have decided that between The Lion King and Frozen, there’s nothing worth watching. This encourages people not to look into Disney films they might’ve missed, or misjudged on the first viewing, films like the majestic and grandiose The Hunchback of Notre Dame, the unique and exciting Atlantis: The Lost Empire, the refreshingly stereotype-free Lilo & Stitch and, perhaps most of all, the wonderful Tangled. Tangled is still a relatively new Disney movie, only a few years old and while people seemed to like it when it came out, it has been all but forgotten; Frozen has stolen its thunder, by being so similar in so many ways and being seen by such a wider audience, Frozen has displaced Tangled in people’s minds, compounded with claims that if it came out three years before Frozen, it probably wasn’t very good. I worry that Tangled will be forgotten, or remembered only as “worse Frozen”, which couldn’t be further from the truth. 

Frozen IS a good movie, the animation is nice, the songs are mostly good and the characters are decent, but it owes so much to Tanged and succeeds in spite of its messy and poorly plotted story because of this. I’m happy to say Frozen’s a good film, I’m happy to sing “Let it Go” with everyone else, I’m glad people enjoy it so much and I even I must admit that, despite finding most of the film good, but not great, I did find myself charmed by the immensely likeable character of Anna, who really is the heart of the film, but let’s not pretend it’s anything that it isn’t and let’s not make sweeping statements like ‘it’s the first good Disney movie for 20 years’. It’s reductive and it’s hurtful. Disney has a wide and wonderful history of films, don’t let hyperbole and misinformation stop you from discovering them; for every Chicken Little, there’s a The Princess and the Frog, for every Home on the Range, a The Emperor’s New Groove, don’t let the few bad seeds ruin years of film. When all is said and done, Frozen is hardly the best Disney movie and not even the best in a few years, but it’s hardly a bad one either; I might not be happy about the culture that’s sprung up around it, but I can’t deny that I really do like it. 

7/10


Next time: Big Hero 6!

Email: joetalksaboutstuff@gmail.com

Twitter: @JSChilds

52. Wreck-it Ralph (2012)

Wreck-it Ralph was a return to computer animation and big narrative storytelling, after the comparatively smaller and simpler Winnie the Pooh and seems to be another attempt at Disney trying something a little different out. The main concept of the film and the advertising that surrounded it is the idea that all your favourite video game characters live in the same world – Sonic, Pac-Man, Bowser and so on are all real people who treat their video game personas as a job and at the end of the day they go off and have their own lives; it’s kind of like Who Framed Roger Rabbit, except with video games instead of cartoons. Audiences were taken in by this enticing idea and stuck around for the film’s visuals and story, which went beyond simply shoehorning in a bunch of video game cameos, though Wreck-it Ralph is certainly not without its problems.

Disney clearly establish that at this point, they have managed to use computer animation while still retaining the creativity, imagination and personality of their traditionally animated films; though not as impressive as Tangled, Wreck-it Ralph is nonetheless a very well animated film which takes advantage of a number of different styles and techniques, from cutting edge CGI to retro, 8-bit graphics and even what is made to look like stop motion. The film has a varied visual style – all the characters have unique and interesting designs, reflecting the fact that they are from different games, which all have unique art styles of their own; I do think the film’s human characters look a bit more like Pixar than Disney, which can come off as a bit lazy, but they are hardly the focus of the film. The characters’ movements are perhaps the most impressive aspect; the film perfectly captures the awkward and limited animation of early video games with the stiff, choppy movements of characters such as the Nicelanders and, occasionally, Ralph and Felix, which helps legitimise this idea that these are video game characters that have come to life and not just pre-rendered models. The backgrounds are also all very distinct and colourful, helping to set the tone for each individual game and, again, distinguishing them from one another; I especially like the fact that it is always night time in Fix-it Felix Jr., because old arcade games always have solid black backgrounds.

What you all came to see

The basic concept of the film is not an entirely original one, as well as the aforementioned connection to Who Framed Roger Rabbit, the film perhaps more explicitly resembles Toy Story, except with video games instead of toys – a group of characters play certain roles for the amusement of children, which they treat like a job and have their own lives that resume when playtime is over. In this respect Wreck-it Ralph can at times feel as if it wants to be more like a Pixar movie than a Disney one, but it unfortunately lacks the depth of Toy Story and is a little too straightforward. Though this initial idea is very interesting, it isn’t always utilised well; the world of the arcade and all the different rules that the characters have to follow are engaging and make for an exciting journey, but the film never really plumbs the depths of its own ideas; while the Toy Story series used its concept and setting to explore the issues of mortality, abandonment, maturity, selfishness versus selflessness and the difference between merely surviving and truly living, Wreck-it Ralph only really uses its concept as a backdrop for a standard underdog story about an outcast who gains acceptance. 

These problems are also reflected in the film’s somewhat poor pacing – though the initial conflict is set up quickly, Ralph spends much longer in Hero’s Duty than he needs to, as it really only serves to set up Calhoun and the Cy-Bugs, which could’ve been done much faster; additionally, the world of Hero’s Duty is pretty dull and unimaginative compared to the film’s other environments, so it’s frustrating to not see Ralph get out of there as soon as possible. He spends even longer in Sugar Rush and though it’s much more interesting an environment, it’s a shame that Ralph couldn’t go to any other games; the bulk of the film isn’t bad by any means, but this all just feels like a waste of potential. Meanwhile, Felix and Calhoun’s subplot, which also takes place mostly in Sugar Rush, feels pretty pointless; they’re basically just chasing after Ralph, but their stories don’t intersect until the very end and as a result they feel very disconnected from the action and serve more as a distraction or, arguably, filler, rather than a companion to the rest of the film. The only purpose their scenes serve is to deliver exposition, which makes them tedious to watch and slows down the action; again, it feels like a missed opportunity, considering that Felix and Calhoun could have travelled to other video game worlds, met a wider assortment of characters and been given more development to their relationship, rather than simply using their time to spout expository dialogue.

The credits for this movie are pretty great

Speaking of the dialogue, it is sadly one of the film’s biggest problems; though the central story is still good, if a little unfulfilled, the dialogue is often clumsy and flat, with too much exposition and strange and awkward attempts at comedy which had me scratching my head more often than laughing. The film’s sense of humour is very broad and juvenile, with a lot of lazy pop-cultural references, silly puns and childish “funny” insults used in place of any humour that naturally develops from the interactions between the characters and the situations they find themselves in. This, combined with the fact that practically every character is voiced by a relatively major celebrity reveals that the film is perhaps not so much a Disney movie that wants to be a Pixar movie, but more like a DreamWorks movie that’s trying to be a Pixar movie, despite actually being a Disney movie; a messy simile I know, but I think that’s the best way to describe it. That said, the video game jokes are surprisingly clever and subtle, for the most part; I was expecting a lot of very goofy references to only the most well known and base level of video game culture, with a lot of talk about points and levels and high scores and very little specifics, but it’s clear that the writers actually cared about the subject matter enough to do their research. Sugar Rush, for example, is a perfect parody of a dime-a-dozen late 90’s Mario Kart clone, while Fix it Felix Jr. itself of course is a love letter to the original Donkey Kong, right up to the arcade cabinet art. There are a few groan-worthy moments – Ralph referencing Lara Croft for absolutely no reason other than to make the reference comes to mind – but most of the video game jokes are quite clever and usually focus around humorously deconstructing the tropes, clichés and bizarre internal logic of video games as a whole, rather than simply yelling out “Mario” or “Sonic” every two minutes.

The characters are also one of the movie’s weaker points, as even though they have a lot of cool things to do, the weak dialogue puts a damper on their wit and personality. Ralph is a bit dull, he doesn’t seem to have much of a personality beyond being grumpy and short-tempered, not so bad for a supporting character perhaps, but not the protagonist; he’s not especially unlikeable and his character arc is interesting, in theory, but in practice it’s not really all that involving. His dialogue is especially bad, usually just being far too simplistic and lacking any sense of emotion or individuality; if it wasn’t for the effort that John C. Reilly puts into his performance, Ralph would be so boring as to be borderline unwatchable. Vanellope is pretty likeable, she’s fun, cute and her animation is very energised and creative; she can be a little annoying and excessively bratty at times, but like John C. Reilly, Sarah Silverman puts a lot of energy into her performance that makes it difficult not to find her at least a little endearing. Felix seems to be a parody of typical early video game protagonists, who, by necessity, had no real characteristics beyond their design, as well as a lot of early Disney ones; he’s a nice, decent guy, but not much else and is often overly naive, as well as polite and friendly to a fault. This is a clever idea which could work really well when paired up against Ralph, but unfortunately the two don’t spend much time together, so like a lot of other things in the movie, this potential seems sadly wasted.

Turbo-tastic

Calhoun is very obviously just supposed to be an animated version of her voice actress, Jane Lynch, or rather, her comic persona and in particular her most famous character, Sue Sylvester from Glee. Not only does she look and (obviously) sound just like her, she’s just as tough, no-nonsense and so on; she’s not unlikeable, but isn’t really very interesting either, as the entire purpose of her character seems to be to deliver exposition, it’s honestly almost all she ever does and it’s distracting, particularly for a Disney movie, as they usually don’t have much exposition at all. She’s not especially bad, but things usually become a little boring when she’s on screen and her dynamic with Felix isn’t nearly as interesting as the dynamic between Ralph and Felix could have been. King Candy is an enjoyably goofy villain and though his dialogue is not particularly funny, his voice and mannerisms – which is quite clearly Alan Tudyk trying to do an impression of the Mad Hatter – are fun to watch. The reveal that he is actually Turbo, an egomaniac who left his own game to take over Sugar Rush and destroyed two games in the process, is genuinely a rather good twist and while his back story is a little clumsily delivered, the way it ties him in to the history of the arcade and its inhabitants helps strengthen his role as a villain and the threat he poses.

There are a lot of reasons why Wreck-it Ralph shouldn’t work: it only capitalises on a tiny percentage of its interesting initial concept, the dialogue is weak, the jokes aren’t very funny, its characters aren’t especially interesting and its attempts to be more like an edgy mix between a Pixar and a DreamWorks movie feel a little out of place. Despite all this, for some reason, I find Wreck-it Ralph really enjoyable and I cannot for the life of me articulate exactly why that is. The best example I can give of this is the scene when Vanellope is learning how to drive, which takes the form of a montage set to “Shut Up and Drive” by Rihanna. For so many reasons, this should not work at all; contemporary pop songs, particularly those of an artist like Rihanna feel completely out of place in a Disney movie, this seems so much more like a scene from a DreamWorks film and not a very good one at that. Yet, somehow, it works; instead of this this awkward song choice taking me out of the movie, it dragged me further in, instead of scoffing and rolling my eyes like I usually would, I felt invigorated and excited, without any sense of irony or insincerity. This sums up the whole film to me, there are so many problems and missed opportunities here, so many things that do not feel like they should be part of a Disney movie, but despite, or perhaps, because of this, Wreck-it Ralph works. Maybe it’s because it’s so unlike most other Disney movies, or maybe it’s because this reflects the very message of the film – everyone is special in their own unique way and even if something isn’t perfect and seems a little messy or broken, that doesn’t mean it can’t be great. Wreck-it Ralph certainly isn’t perfect and is definitely a little rough around the edges, but deep down, it’s a sweet and charming film.


6.5/10

Next Week: Frozen!

Email: joetalksaboutstuff@gmail.com

Twitter: @JSChilds

51. Winnie the Pooh (2011)

After the positive reactions to The Princess and the Frog and Tangled, it looked like audiences were finally warming up to Disney again. I can only assume that Disney didn’t want to risk their recently reclaimed popularity after years of critical and financial disappointment and so decided to play it safe by going back to old territory with Winnie the Pooh, a small and simple film featuring familiar ideas and characters that was sure to draw audiences in. I still find it a rather strange choice that this film was made, as there doesn’t really seem to be sufficient reason for it to be, but it’s nice to see this world again after so long.

The film is Disney’s last traditionally animated feature (as of the time I’m writing this) and while it’s hardly a big, showy send-off to traditional animation, it certainly looks very nice. The animation is very smooth and lively, with clear and crisp colours and beautifully painted backgrounds; it really does just look like an updated version of the original The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh, with only a few slight tweaks to art style and character design (namely, Christopher Robin). It’s nothing revolutionary or unique to shout about, but the animation is certainly strong and some sequences, such as Pooh’s honey fantasy and Owl’s description of the Backson do stand out as being especially imaginative. 

I’m pretty sure this is how Orson Welles died 

The story resembles the original The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh in that it’s less of a singular narrative and more like a few different stories collected together, although they are more interconnected and weaved together, here, as this is not a combination of pre-established shorts, like the original. The film focuses on three stories – Pooh’s quest for Hunny, Eeyore’s search for a new tail, and the group’s attempts to rescue Christopher Robin from the dreaded “Backson” (he’s actually just at school and will be “back soon”). The stories all flow well enough and intersect together at the end to make a satisfying and appropriate conclusion, although after that the film does kind of awkwardly end, without the same kind of emotional satisfaction as the original. There really isn’t any more to it, than that; like the original, this movie is definitely made for children and thus keeps things as basic as possible, but of course, there’s nothing really wrong with that.

The characters are the same, we know all these guys already – Pooh, Tigger, Piglet, Rabbit, Eeyore, Owl, Kanga, Roo, Christopher Robin, they’re all here, except Gopher, but somehow I doubt anyone misses him. The characters are mostly all the same, though they tend to be a little more exaggerated than they were in the original film and some are a bit more prominent than others – Owl in particular gets a strangely large amount of time dedicated to him, almost as much as Pooh himself. The different voices can also be a little distracting, but most of the impressions are pretty much spot on and the only noticeably different ones – that is to say, Rabbit and Owl – still fit the characters well. The only one I don’t care for is Christopher Robin, who I don’t think really sounds right; I get that he’s supposed to sound more like a modern British kid would, but I don’t know it just sounds strange and a little too young, I don’t think it really matches with his older looking character design or general personality, but that’s just me. Besides that the group is... perhaps a little too stupid; the characters of the Hundred Acre Wood have always been a little airheaded, but it’s usually more a case of charming innocence and naiveté, whereas here they just seem really, legitimately dumb. It allows for a few good jokes, but I do think it goes a bit far at times; it works for some characters, like Owl, or Pooh, to a degree, but seeing Piglet and Rabbit act so stupid doesn’t really seem right. Other than that, John Cleese is a perfect choice for the narrator, who serves the same role as the one in the original film and honestly, is just as friendly and engaging.

The heffalump uh I mean the woozle uh I mean the pink elephant uh I mean the Backson

The songs are mostly like those of The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh, as well as explicitly featuring the original “Winnie the Pooh” theme and a couple of songs that are quite obviously inspired by similar ones from the original film. The songs are fun and cute, but simplistic; the lyricism isn’t exactly inventive or masterful, but there is at least an attempt at matching Disney’s lyrical style which works well at times. “The Tummy Song” and “It’s Gonna be Great” demonstrate this style, as well as resembling “Rumbly in my Tumbly” and “The Wonderful Thing about Tiggers”, respectively; “Everything is Honey” also follows this style but feels a little more original. Similarly, “The Backson Song” obviously takes inspiration from “Heffalumps and Woozles” with its dark, jaunty rhythm, kooky rhymes, surreal visuals and bizarre animation; just like the song it takes its inspiration from, this a very fun number and the best sequence of the film. Other than that there a couple songs from, of all people, Zooey Deschanel, who on paper seems like a strange choice but in practice I think her soothing, melodic voice suits the tone and feel of the film very well.

Winnie the Pooh is a decent movie, but there’s not much to it, so honestly, I don’t have much to say. It’s very much a movie for young children, even more so than the original, being even more simplistic and short, clocking in at barely an hour. The characters are timeless, of course, but I do think the film’s somewhat more modern sense of humour means that they are forced into positions that don’t entirely suit them; the nucleus for all these classic characters is still there, but some of their traits are exaggerated to the point where they don’t quite act like themselves. Overall, though, Winnie the Pooh is pretty much exactly what you’d expect – a cute, visually appealing movie with some nice music and a good heart; I’m still not entirely sure why it was made at all and it’s on a much smaller scale than anything Disney had made for a long time, but I suppose at this point perhaps it was appropriate for them to dial things down a bit for a year and take a bit of a break. 

6/10

Next Week: Wreck-it Ralph!

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