REVIEW: The Muppets (2011)

One of the most purely joyful films of the year, The Muppets is less a franchise cash-in than a labor of love from one generation (spearheaded by co-star/writer Jason Segal) to the children’s icons of yesteryear, who haven’t been on the big screen since their last movie flopped way back in 1999. It's also (and here's where it gets postmodern) less a “Muppet movie” than a movie about Muppet movies. One critic called it a work of "canonical fan fiction", and there's no better description, since what we have here is a tribute to the tropes, themes, characters, style, and importance of children's entertainment, with the creators inserting themselves into a franchise they grew up on. Indeed, given its sensibility, the whole thing may have more in common with "Flight of the Conchords"—from which it gets its director and principle songwriter—than it does with previous Muppet films. And while most Muppet fans I know have loved what Segal and co. did with it, I have, in all fairness, encountered a few who reacted adversely, not least of which is Frank Oz, the original Miss Piggy, who left project over creative differences.

Still, if the film's execution comes self-consciously from hip newcomers, that outsider perspective also gives the film the most crucial aspect of its identity. The classic characters are resurrected here with such nostalgia that when “The Rainbow Connection” is brought out near the end, it’s not self-plagiarism but homage, and it caused a feeling of reverence to settle over the theater. Yes, the film is so indifferent to its own narrative that it solves the main plot conflict in an outtake. But it knows that the secret to comedy is throwing the jokes so fast that if one is too easy, a better one will arrive before long, and it sustains this energy so well that to complain about anything as trivial as a narrative risks coming across as sociopathic. And with moments like the opening musical number ("Life's a Happy Song", performed in the colorful streets of Smalltown, USA), the film hits a peak.

You don’t need to get the in-jokes or know the “Flight of the Conchords” connection to recognize that the Muppets here aren’t just for children, but for the media-savvy, hip-to-be-square young adults who still have a soft spot. So the film is well aware that the world of children’s entertainment is so squeaky-clean that it's begging to be parodied—but it doesn’t want to cynically write off this innocent wonderland, either. It may sometimes gets a laugh from irony, but it knows that unashamed sincerity can be so much better. See it and be merry.

4 out of 5 stars.

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The Muppets is out on DVD this week from Disney.

REVIEW: Melancholia (2011)

It all ends. I’m not talking about the world—though that ends, too—but rather my platform of noninvolvement when it comes to Lars von Trier. Considering that he’s one of the most acclaimed/hated directors of the last 20 years, there was a certain purity to never having seen a single one of his films, and thus not having any opinion one way or another on whether he was a cinematic luminary or a manipulative hack with a misanthropic sense of humor. Having seen only one, I can’t say anything for certain except that he’s a talented image-maker, as well as the sort of guy who puts his name above the title and imagines his depression as nothing less than the end of all life on Earth.

The story of Melancholia is divided discretely into two parts. The first centers on the marriage of Justine (Kirsten Dunst), a young woman of no specific background whose problems in life (family, work, sex) all get compressed into a darkly comedic and flagrantly illogical wedding party from Hell. And though this occasion should be the happiest of her life, she instead feels a crushing loneliness. In the second part, the party is over, everyone has left, and Justine has sank into deep depression. Her sister Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg) tries to console her, but to little effect. Meanwhile, a strange new planet called "Melancholia" has appeared in the sky on a collision course for Earth. And as it gets closer and closer, Claire searches for answers, and Justine's depression turns to tranquility.

If nothing else, the film is a powerhouse of aesthetics and performances. Kirsten Dunst, who’s most recognized for being rescued by Tobey Maguire (three times), gets a role that she can truly dig into; she goes all out, gives one of the most remarkable performances of 2011, and strikes a blow for actresses everywhere that get written off as eye-candy. And if von Trier’s characters scarcely resemble recognizable human behavior, he at least pursues this approach so single-mindedly that he pushes the film successfully into the realm of dreams and metaphors.

But with an approach so grandiose, the question emerges, aesthetics aside, of what it all adds up to. The narrative is scattershot, and even as the bursts of Wagner and the image of Dunst’s deteriorating body can shake you in your seat, I’m really not sure what the film is saying about depression, except for equating it (unadvisedly) with a kind of pessimistic enlightenment. In other words, it indulges depression rather than examining it. The result is an unforgettable film that shows talent, virtuosity, atmosphere, vision, and still feels empty. Reactions to the film vary, but that, I suppose, is the essence of von Trier.

3 out of 5 stars.

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Melancholia is out on DVD this week from Magnolia.

REVIEW: The Skin I Live In (2011)

Pedro Almodóvar has been in a rut for the past few films: the skills were still there, but all you need to do is go back to his 80s work to feel that his latest pictures have been low on energy and a bit forgettable. To break the routine, he gets back in touch with his dark and kinky side (as well as Antonio Banderas, whose career he launched) for this truly twisted thriller-horror-melodrama. As with all Almodóvar films, synopsis should be kept at a minimum, so you can enjoy the next sharp right turn without any warning. Suffice it to say that it combines obsession, revenge, and medical experimentation into one diabolical corkscrew of a plot. No one could ever call it forgettable—in fact, it may make you long for the safety of Blue Velvet—and it’s likely to leave many viewers in a state of revulsion. But stick with it, and you may find that this is a very rich and knowing film whose horror comes from provocative points about the gap between outward appearance and inner identity—and how we’re forced to live with one even if it doesn’t fit with the other. In other words, it’s a gender studies horror movie in the same way Peeping Tom is a media theory horror movie, and I expect many college papers will be written accordingly. Tread carefully, and for god’s sake, don’t bring a date.

4 out of 5 stars.

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The Skin I Live In is out on DVD this week from Sony Pictures.

REVIEW: The Help (2011)

This is where the rubber meets the road at awards season. One of the most instructive case studies on the Oscars comes from 1989, the year that Spike Lee made Do the Right Thing, which is arguably the best and certainly one of the most provocative films to tackle the topic of race in America. It’s a film as loaded as its subject, more or less designed to breach comfort zones and get the audience debating. The Academy passed it over for a Best Picture nomination, and instead gave the top prize to a movie where an old white lady teaches Morgan Freeman to read. The point is a cynically on-the-nose but unshakeable indication that the Academy prefers to tackle Important Issues like race only with safe, palliative reassurances—and from the primary perspective of a white protagonist.

All of which brings us, 22 years later, to The Help, which became a sleeper hit (grossing over $150 million), a Best Picture nominee, and—not for the right reason—a topical lightning rod about how race is handled in American popular culture. This is the sort of slick, polished product that moves briskly and has engaging stars, but completely falls apart if you think about how honestly it approaches its own goals. This is the civil rights era as a low-calorie soap opera, with TV production values, a glossy and sterile visual palette, forced caricatures, colloquial affectations, period details as kitsch, and more melodramatic subplots than it can possibly sustain. (146 minutes!). 

And, for that matter, it never actually confronts racism—not simply because it glosses over the real violent ugliness of the subject, but because it portrays racism as something from a bygone era, perpetrated by cartoonishly wicked people, rather than as a complex societal issue that can even be seen in otherwise upstanding human beings. And when it’s not busy reassuring you about racism, it’s selling out its stated feminist aims, or getting a laugh from a shot of a little girl on the toilet. This is one of the worst Best Picture nominees I’ve ever seen, and while the stars inject an element of charisma and personality that wouldn't otherwise be there, it’s troubling that such a tacky treatment of such serious subjects is what the Academy would like to single out as some of the year’s most important work.

1 out of 5 stars