When I first saw a poster for TMNT, my jaw quite literally dropped; Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles is an early 90s thing, something that was great, but surely not cool anymore. Apparently recent toy sales were surprisingly strong, leading the license-holders to believe that there was life in the old franchise yet, and I am so glad they gave it a go. This computer-animated movie is genuinely funny, has a lot of heart, and will keep both children and fanboys happy.
As the film begins, we see that the team of Turtles is in a bad way. Leonardo, the oldest brother and natural leader, had been on a training expedition to South America, but has decided to stay and help people living in the jungle. Raphael, the angriest turtle, has taken to being a lone vigilante, whilst the other two are doing decidedly un-ninja-ry jobs (producing some of the funniest moments). When Leonardo returns, Raphael’s bitterness at having to be led means that the brothers can no longer work as a group, which is very sad. It takes a shared enemy to bring them together, as they have to work as a team to take down an ancient evil. The storyline is quite light-weight, with a nice emotional arc setting up things for a sequel; though obviously it requires a suspension of disbelief (this is a universe with pizza-eating, human-sized turtles we are talking about), it makes sense in its own reality (a rarity nowadays in genre films).
On the animation front, they’ve gone the way of The Incredibles with the humans by making them very stylised. This is slightly off-putting, since the backgrounds are beautifully realistic, but everything else looks excellent. I especially loved Splinter; he was so gorgeous and furry, I could have eaten him with a spoon. Totally adorable. The camera movements and the panoramas of New York during the fights bring to mind the best of the Spider-Man films. Voice casting is very good, with a nice sense of character. Obviously aware of their geek audience, the film-makers have got Jean-Luc Picard (Patrick Stuart), Buffy (Sarah Michelle Geller) and The Human Torch (Chris Evans) in the cast.
This all adds up to a lovely little film that is much more fun than one feels it ought to be somehow. I don’t know why this is, though, because the Turtles were so popular back then for a reason, but it is so easy to forget. I’m not sure if TMNT has made them cool again exactly, but that day may be fast approaching. They are well on their way to getting those awful live-action films out of the collective consciousness, at least.
Friday, 30 March 2007
Review - INLAND EMPIRE
There are certain narrative conventions that have developed to allow the cinema audience to be carried along by a story in sure and certain hope that they know what is going on. Directors have long loved to use these to trick the viewer, carrying them down dead ends with Smart Alec glee. But it is David Lynch who tries to actively go against them to confuse and perplex. It may not make any sense, but INLAND EMPIRE is an amazing dream-like experience for those who are willing to follow Lynch down the rabbit hole.
The story, if there is one, seems to concern an actress (Laura Dern) as she wins a plum role in a movie. It turns out, however, that this movie has a dark and sinister past, and extremely strange things start happening. I think. I’m not sure if that’s what it is about, but I’m definitely confident about the ‘extremely strange things happening’ bit. Nevertheless, individual scenes are mesmerising, even if one doesn’t understand the context, alternately deeply disturbing, moving, and very funny. David Lynch is the master of mood, and in this film he shows off his skill with great aplomb.
There are so many things going on, so many characters and competing realities, that it would be easy to lose sight of the lead. It is all the more remarkable, then, that Laura Dern has given her best ever performance here. She plays terrified, ballsy, innocent, everything, with an amazing naturalism and lack of self-conciousness. Her whole role could be compared to Naomi Watt’s dazzling and startling audition scenes in INLAND EMPIRE’s partner film, Mulholland Drive, but sustained over 3 hours. Justin Theroux is also excellent as her co-star, and there are a myriad of great cameos from the likes of Jeremy Irons, Harry Dean Stanton, and Grace Zabriskie.
It is quite heavy going, and this wouldn’t be a good entry-point to those unfamiliar with Lynch’s work, but for those with an open mind and consciousness, it is a revelation. Filmed with digital hand held cameras over many years, it shows what can be done with imagination and full directorial control, regardless of budget. The coda over the end credits is an ecstatic romp, which makes me wonder whether it is as serious a film as it might seem; Lynch is having fun with us, and if you are up for it, I’d urge you to join in and lose yourself in this strange maze.
The story, if there is one, seems to concern an actress (Laura Dern) as she wins a plum role in a movie. It turns out, however, that this movie has a dark and sinister past, and extremely strange things start happening. I think. I’m not sure if that’s what it is about, but I’m definitely confident about the ‘extremely strange things happening’ bit. Nevertheless, individual scenes are mesmerising, even if one doesn’t understand the context, alternately deeply disturbing, moving, and very funny. David Lynch is the master of mood, and in this film he shows off his skill with great aplomb.
There are so many things going on, so many characters and competing realities, that it would be easy to lose sight of the lead. It is all the more remarkable, then, that Laura Dern has given her best ever performance here. She plays terrified, ballsy, innocent, everything, with an amazing naturalism and lack of self-conciousness. Her whole role could be compared to Naomi Watt’s dazzling and startling audition scenes in INLAND EMPIRE’s partner film, Mulholland Drive, but sustained over 3 hours. Justin Theroux is also excellent as her co-star, and there are a myriad of great cameos from the likes of Jeremy Irons, Harry Dean Stanton, and Grace Zabriskie.
It is quite heavy going, and this wouldn’t be a good entry-point to those unfamiliar with Lynch’s work, but for those with an open mind and consciousness, it is a revelation. Filmed with digital hand held cameras over many years, it shows what can be done with imagination and full directorial control, regardless of budget. The coda over the end credits is an ecstatic romp, which makes me wonder whether it is as serious a film as it might seem; Lynch is having fun with us, and if you are up for it, I’d urge you to join in and lose yourself in this strange maze.
Tuesday, 6 March 2007
Review - Ghost Rider
Ghost Rider is really a second-tier superhero, but he is certainly one of the coolest-looking. As is the trend with Marvel’s characters, his power is also his curse; a deal made with the Devil when a teen-ager has meant that Johnny Blaze (Nicholas Cage) turns into a biker with a flaming skull at night, and is forced to do the Evil One’s bidding. This might be highly rad, but it plays havoc with your social life. This slice of hokum tells this origin story and has Ghost Rider bagging his first villain in a light and fun way.
Nicholas Cage is obviously having a blast finally playing a superhero (he is a huge comic geek), and he adds some great kooky touches to the character; he does his usual bad-ass Elvis shtick with great aplomb, making it obvious that this isn’t a film to be taken seriously. Peter Fonda is suitably menacing as Mephistopheles (the Devil in Marvel-speak), Donal Logue is charming as Johnny’s best friend Mack, and Eva Mendes has a nice spunky edge to her as the love interest. The whole tone is quite comedic, overlaid with some Goth and Wild West motifs. The focus is mainly on the fire- and motorbike-heavy action, which uses some very good CGI for the hero and his ghostly villains.
Ghost Rider has one major flaw, though. It doesn’t really make any sense. The MacGuffin at the centre of the plot (some sort of contract) is very sketchily drawn, and at the end when you expect answers, you don’t get them. Weirdly, I didn’t mind that that much, as it was a fun, if superficial, ride. This was the director Mark Steven Johnson’s follow-up to Daredevil, a film I liked, though no-one else seemed to. Other people did like the Director’s Cut, though, because the story actually made sense in it. Let’s hope there’s a director’s cut of this lying around somewhere to absolve him all over again.
But even if that never surfaces, this is still a good popcorn flick with a wonderfully enthusiastic central performance, which should enthuse the audience for its 114 minute running time.
Nicholas Cage is obviously having a blast finally playing a superhero (he is a huge comic geek), and he adds some great kooky touches to the character; he does his usual bad-ass Elvis shtick with great aplomb, making it obvious that this isn’t a film to be taken seriously. Peter Fonda is suitably menacing as Mephistopheles (the Devil in Marvel-speak), Donal Logue is charming as Johnny’s best friend Mack, and Eva Mendes has a nice spunky edge to her as the love interest. The whole tone is quite comedic, overlaid with some Goth and Wild West motifs. The focus is mainly on the fire- and motorbike-heavy action, which uses some very good CGI for the hero and his ghostly villains.
Ghost Rider has one major flaw, though. It doesn’t really make any sense. The MacGuffin at the centre of the plot (some sort of contract) is very sketchily drawn, and at the end when you expect answers, you don’t get them. Weirdly, I didn’t mind that that much, as it was a fun, if superficial, ride. This was the director Mark Steven Johnson’s follow-up to Daredevil, a film I liked, though no-one else seemed to. Other people did like the Director’s Cut, though, because the story actually made sense in it. Let’s hope there’s a director’s cut of this lying around somewhere to absolve him all over again.
But even if that never surfaces, this is still a good popcorn flick with a wonderfully enthusiastic central performance, which should enthuse the audience for its 114 minute running time.
Saturday, 3 March 2007
Review - Hot Fuzz
These days, hit British comedy films tend to be written by Richard Curtis and make you want to scratch your own eyes out in an attempt to get Keira Knightley’s smug face out of your brain. It is refreshing, therefore, to witness the movie success of Simon Pegg and director Edgar Wright. I was a huge fan of their sit-com Spaced (which was co-written by Jessica Stevenson), and with the track record of TV comedians in film so bad, it’s great that their first film Shaun of the Dead was an international hit. The follow-up Hot Fuzz more than lives up to expectations. Like Shaun, it slams genre movie conventions in the middle of Middle England, producing ample room for spoofery. This time they’ve put gun-toting, car-chasing cops in a Gloucestershire village.
Nicholas Angel (Simon Pegg) is the Met’s top cop. He’s a perfect shot, very enthusiastic about following the rules, and has an arrest record that puts all the other officers to shame. His superiors get rid of their embarrassment by posting him to the middle of nowhere, the quiet village of Sandford in the West Country. After a series of mysterious (and extremely gory) accidental deaths, Angel’s fish-out-of-water soon finds out that it is not as quiet as it first seems.
Hot Fuzz is a whole lot of fun; they’ve tied all the gags around a reasonable storyline that keeps things moving along. Simon Pegg is suitably serious as the straight man, and Nick Frost (obviously playing the sweet and stupid best friend. Obviously.) is lovely as PC Danny Butterman. Almost everyone from the British comedy scene seems to make cameos in this, with my particular favourite being Olivia Coleman (Sophie off of Peep Show, and Bev of the Trev and Bev AA adverts) as a saucy female police officer. Timothy Dalton does a great moustache-twirling turn as a deliciously malevolent and highly suspicious Somerfield manager. But although I wanted to love it, I only liked it. I think this is just because I love Spaced so much that nothing seems to live up to it; maybe I liked Jessica Stevenson’s contribution more than Pegg’s without knowing it. But this is my own personal hang-up, and it was genuinely laugh-out-loud funny, which I suppose is all you can ask for a comedy. This is British film comedy made for and by geeks, something which can only be applauded.
Nicholas Angel (Simon Pegg) is the Met’s top cop. He’s a perfect shot, very enthusiastic about following the rules, and has an arrest record that puts all the other officers to shame. His superiors get rid of their embarrassment by posting him to the middle of nowhere, the quiet village of Sandford in the West Country. After a series of mysterious (and extremely gory) accidental deaths, Angel’s fish-out-of-water soon finds out that it is not as quiet as it first seems.
Hot Fuzz is a whole lot of fun; they’ve tied all the gags around a reasonable storyline that keeps things moving along. Simon Pegg is suitably serious as the straight man, and Nick Frost (obviously playing the sweet and stupid best friend. Obviously.) is lovely as PC Danny Butterman. Almost everyone from the British comedy scene seems to make cameos in this, with my particular favourite being Olivia Coleman (Sophie off of Peep Show, and Bev of the Trev and Bev AA adverts) as a saucy female police officer. Timothy Dalton does a great moustache-twirling turn as a deliciously malevolent and highly suspicious Somerfield manager. But although I wanted to love it, I only liked it. I think this is just because I love Spaced so much that nothing seems to live up to it; maybe I liked Jessica Stevenson’s contribution more than Pegg’s without knowing it. But this is my own personal hang-up, and it was genuinely laugh-out-loud funny, which I suppose is all you can ask for a comedy. This is British film comedy made for and by geeks, something which can only be applauded.
Tuesday, 27 February 2007
Review - Zwartboek (Black Book)
Paul Verhoeven is best known for blockbusters like Total Recall, Starship Troopers and Basic Instinct, but not perhaps for moving drama. In Zwartboek he takes his mastery of glossy suspense and action and combines this with a genuinely affecting story to produce a grown-up film that crosses genres. This is a dazzling rollercoaster of a thriller, producing a complex vision of a complex time in European history.
Set in Holland in the final months of the Second World War, the story focuses on Jewish singer Rachel Stein (Carice van Houten) when she is forced to flee her hiding place. After her family is brutally murdered in front of her, she joins the Dutch Resistance and goes deep undercover in the occupiers’ headquarters. What follows is a labyrinth plot with many twists and turns. It is an unusual film because it sometimes has the feel of a Hollywood thriller, yet is in Dutch and German. It has moments of shocking violence, but also many deeply emotional and poignant scenes. It is also unusual for producing a very morally complex story. No-one is shown as wholly good or evil as an empire crumbles, and peace holds as many problems as the war. Verhoeven even produces that rarest of things, a sympathetic Nazi; Müntze (Sebastian Koch) is a lonely man who has also suffered, and his relationship with Rachel really is the film’s suprising heart.
The world Verhoeven has created is fully realised. The sets and costumes range from grimy and squalid to lush and luxurious, always looking exactly right. It is not surprising to learn that this is the most expensive Dutch film ever made. But the best thing about this film is undoubtably van Houten, who creates a wonderful heroine. Carice van Houten looks like a grown-up Kirsten Dunst, if Kirsten Dunst could act. She is radient in the party scenes, wearing stunning red satin as she partakes in caberet and espionage. Films often purport to have strong female characters, but they end up like something from a computer game, all high-kicking karate and tight jumpsuits. Rachel, unhampered by American cinema’s backwards view of feminism, is a truly brave and intelligent woman who thinks on her feet and is fighting for what is right. She uses her sexuality to her advantage and is always in complete control, even in the most tragic circumstances.
My only criticism would be that the story is told as a flashback, meaning that we already partly know the outcome of events. Leaving the ending a mystery would have kept the audience even more on the edge their seat. No matter, for this is still an extremely exhilerating ride through Europe at its darkest moment, full of double-crossing, intrigue, and love.
Set in Holland in the final months of the Second World War, the story focuses on Jewish singer Rachel Stein (Carice van Houten) when she is forced to flee her hiding place. After her family is brutally murdered in front of her, she joins the Dutch Resistance and goes deep undercover in the occupiers’ headquarters. What follows is a labyrinth plot with many twists and turns. It is an unusual film because it sometimes has the feel of a Hollywood thriller, yet is in Dutch and German. It has moments of shocking violence, but also many deeply emotional and poignant scenes. It is also unusual for producing a very morally complex story. No-one is shown as wholly good or evil as an empire crumbles, and peace holds as many problems as the war. Verhoeven even produces that rarest of things, a sympathetic Nazi; Müntze (Sebastian Koch) is a lonely man who has also suffered, and his relationship with Rachel really is the film’s suprising heart.
The world Verhoeven has created is fully realised. The sets and costumes range from grimy and squalid to lush and luxurious, always looking exactly right. It is not surprising to learn that this is the most expensive Dutch film ever made. But the best thing about this film is undoubtably van Houten, who creates a wonderful heroine. Carice van Houten looks like a grown-up Kirsten Dunst, if Kirsten Dunst could act. She is radient in the party scenes, wearing stunning red satin as she partakes in caberet and espionage. Films often purport to have strong female characters, but they end up like something from a computer game, all high-kicking karate and tight jumpsuits. Rachel, unhampered by American cinema’s backwards view of feminism, is a truly brave and intelligent woman who thinks on her feet and is fighting for what is right. She uses her sexuality to her advantage and is always in complete control, even in the most tragic circumstances.
My only criticism would be that the story is told as a flashback, meaning that we already partly know the outcome of events. Leaving the ending a mystery would have kept the audience even more on the edge their seat. No matter, for this is still an extremely exhilerating ride through Europe at its darkest moment, full of double-crossing, intrigue, and love.
Review - Bobby
Emilio Estevez’s film is obviously a labour of love on the part of the director, a peaen to the time when everything seemed possible for America, and a haunting account of the moment when all hope disappeared. The historical background to events, and their significance to today, is hammered home effectively; you only wish that he’d been able to wrap it around a better film.
The action takes place on that fateful day of June 4th 1968, and in the fateful place of the Ambassador Hotel, Los Angeles. We follow a large selection of characters pulled from the staff and guests of the hotel in the run up to the senseless killing of Robert Kennedy. They are carefully selected to tick all the issue-boxes of the period, so we get ethnic tensions in the kitchen, emerging feminism in the bedroom, and anti-war sentiment in the wedding chapel. And of course the obligatory hippy. This is a portrait of a group of people in pain, a network of hurting individuals that we are supposed to get involved with; the musical interlude (to the excellent ‘Never Gonna Break My Faith’ by Aretha Franklin and Mary J. Blige, the only new song in a great contemporaneous soundtrack) evokes P.T. Anderson’s Magnolia, an altogether more effective member of this genre.
The starry cast produces great performances, but they are let down by a lack of focus and memorable dialogue. There doesn’t seem to any point to it all. It is never made clear who Martin Sheen and Helen Hunt’s couple are or why they are there (it’s certainly not to entertain or move you). Demi Moore’s alcoholic singer is very miserable, and that’s her whole story. Estevez gives himself a part as her husband, the role consisting only of walking a small dog in a daze.
Of the myriad storylines, there are some that work: the love triangle surrounding William H. Macy, with Sharon Stone’s world-weary wife and a deliciously doe-eyed Heather Graham as the Other Woman, is sensitively portrayed. Anthony Hopkins gives a lovingly gentle and naturalistic performance as a retired doorman who can’t bear to leave the hotel, and Freddy Rodriquez is adorable as a decent and hardworking bus boy. The scenes with Lyndsay Lohan as the selfless bride saving her friend from the jungles of Vietnam are very affecting, until one realises she’s marrying Elijah Wood, permanently stuck in that 14 year-old awkward stage; this is bad casting that doesn’t ring true.
Bookending the film are montages showing the immense social upheavels of the period, the heart-breakingly moving words of Robert Kennedy, and the devotion he inspired in the American people. These are so effective that one wonders whether Estevez’s time would have been better spent making a stirring documentary, rather than trying to get his point across by throwing lots of characters at the screen and hoping they’d stick emotionally with the audience. They all pale in significance to what should have been the focus of the film, Bobby. This is a campaigning piece of work, and one that will do nothing to counteract the Sheen Clan’s bleeding-heart Pinko image, but Kennedy’s words are so painfully pertinent to today that it would be a hard heart that could fail to be moved. All this seems quite divorced from the main meat of the film, making it a strange concoction that has its charms and its moments, but ultimately doesn’t produce a satisfying whole.
The action takes place on that fateful day of June 4th 1968, and in the fateful place of the Ambassador Hotel, Los Angeles. We follow a large selection of characters pulled from the staff and guests of the hotel in the run up to the senseless killing of Robert Kennedy. They are carefully selected to tick all the issue-boxes of the period, so we get ethnic tensions in the kitchen, emerging feminism in the bedroom, and anti-war sentiment in the wedding chapel. And of course the obligatory hippy. This is a portrait of a group of people in pain, a network of hurting individuals that we are supposed to get involved with; the musical interlude (to the excellent ‘Never Gonna Break My Faith’ by Aretha Franklin and Mary J. Blige, the only new song in a great contemporaneous soundtrack) evokes P.T. Anderson’s Magnolia, an altogether more effective member of this genre.
The starry cast produces great performances, but they are let down by a lack of focus and memorable dialogue. There doesn’t seem to any point to it all. It is never made clear who Martin Sheen and Helen Hunt’s couple are or why they are there (it’s certainly not to entertain or move you). Demi Moore’s alcoholic singer is very miserable, and that’s her whole story. Estevez gives himself a part as her husband, the role consisting only of walking a small dog in a daze.
Of the myriad storylines, there are some that work: the love triangle surrounding William H. Macy, with Sharon Stone’s world-weary wife and a deliciously doe-eyed Heather Graham as the Other Woman, is sensitively portrayed. Anthony Hopkins gives a lovingly gentle and naturalistic performance as a retired doorman who can’t bear to leave the hotel, and Freddy Rodriquez is adorable as a decent and hardworking bus boy. The scenes with Lyndsay Lohan as the selfless bride saving her friend from the jungles of Vietnam are very affecting, until one realises she’s marrying Elijah Wood, permanently stuck in that 14 year-old awkward stage; this is bad casting that doesn’t ring true.
Bookending the film are montages showing the immense social upheavels of the period, the heart-breakingly moving words of Robert Kennedy, and the devotion he inspired in the American people. These are so effective that one wonders whether Estevez’s time would have been better spent making a stirring documentary, rather than trying to get his point across by throwing lots of characters at the screen and hoping they’d stick emotionally with the audience. They all pale in significance to what should have been the focus of the film, Bobby. This is a campaigning piece of work, and one that will do nothing to counteract the Sheen Clan’s bleeding-heart Pinko image, but Kennedy’s words are so painfully pertinent to today that it would be a hard heart that could fail to be moved. All this seems quite divorced from the main meat of the film, making it a strange concoction that has its charms and its moments, but ultimately doesn’t produce a satisfying whole.
Review - Happy Feet
Happy Feet is a very strange film indeed, a feverish mix of Discovery Channel realism and Moulin Rouge-style inexplicable song and dance routines. Many contradictory ideas are flung in the ring and none really work, producing an exasperating 109 minutes in the cinema.
The premise is bizarre to begin with: Emperor Penguins each have a pop song that they start singing spontaneously in infancy (called, sickeningly, their ‘heart song’), which they later use to woo mates in choreographed sing-offs. Memphis (Hugh Jackman) and Norma Jean (Nichole Kidman), unnecessary and hideous Elvis and Marilyn Monroe-style penguins, meet in this good old-fashioned manner and soon have an egg. Memphis’s neglect during incubation means that their baby comes out all wrong; Mumble (Elijah Wood) cannot sing like all the other penguins, and has some hormonal problem that means he never fully goes through puberty, keeping some of his grey down. He sure can tap dance, though. Unfortunately tap dancing is ‘just not penguin’ (probably because with their strange ungainly bodies, even the moves of Fred Astaire look underwhelming when done by Emperor Penguin flippers ending up as a series of flappy noises, something the film-makers seem not to have realised), and the cute baby penguin is an outcast. His behaviour is deemed so subversive that when food becomes scarce, the elders of the community blame his heresy and cast him out.
What follows is the familiar Lion King story of Mumbles making some ‘amusing’ new friends (mostly voiced by Robin Williams) before his triumphant return to his home. This journey is a lot more disturbing than what we have seen before in the cute animal animation genre, however. He is chased by scary seals, whales, and captured by humans. The insane asylum atmosphere of the zoo is so effective that it may put children off them for life. The film goes from being a familiar story of an outsider gaining acceptance to a crusading parable for environmentalism, as Mumble realises that it is humans, not he, that are disrupting the food chain in the Antarctic. After forcing us to face grim reality, the ending is a huge cop-out, with a completely ridiculous turn of events (if humans ever saw penguins tap dancing, I don’t think we’d see it as an obvious plea to stop over fishing the seas).
The action is punctuated by song and dance numbers of familiar standards by the penguins, with Brittany Murphy as the sexy siren singing her heart out. These were quite infectious, but the makers of the film should have decided whether they were going for a frothy musical, or a worthy tale of our neglect of the environment. This uncertainty is also reflected in the visuals, as the characters and landscapes are beautifully designed to look as real as possible, but the characters are doing things that obviously penguins don’t do. If they’d have made them more ‘cute’ and anthropomorphic as in most animations, then this would not have been a problem. Obviously they wanted to cash in on the success of March of the Penguins by making it look as similar as possible to that documentary.
Maybe I am over analysing this. After all, it’s just a cartoon for children, and you’re supposed to suspend your disbelief. But the real crime is that Happy Feet just isn’t funny. Most of the high-profile CGI animations have succeeded by being amusing to both children and adults. I only laughed once. Most of the comedy is left to Robin Williams in two roles, giving him the chance to portray not one, but two racial stereotypes! It makes you glad that Hollywood isn’t producing any more motor-mouthed comedians to be hilarious cartoon sidekicks in the vein of Williams and Eddie Murphy.
This is a surreal and annoying mix of many ideas that just don’t gel. The film-makers got one thing right, though. They created the Emperor Penguin version of Elijah Wood perfectly: perma-pubescent and with piercing blue eyes always on the verge of tears.
The premise is bizarre to begin with: Emperor Penguins each have a pop song that they start singing spontaneously in infancy (called, sickeningly, their ‘heart song’), which they later use to woo mates in choreographed sing-offs. Memphis (Hugh Jackman) and Norma Jean (Nichole Kidman), unnecessary and hideous Elvis and Marilyn Monroe-style penguins, meet in this good old-fashioned manner and soon have an egg. Memphis’s neglect during incubation means that their baby comes out all wrong; Mumble (Elijah Wood) cannot sing like all the other penguins, and has some hormonal problem that means he never fully goes through puberty, keeping some of his grey down. He sure can tap dance, though. Unfortunately tap dancing is ‘just not penguin’ (probably because with their strange ungainly bodies, even the moves of Fred Astaire look underwhelming when done by Emperor Penguin flippers ending up as a series of flappy noises, something the film-makers seem not to have realised), and the cute baby penguin is an outcast. His behaviour is deemed so subversive that when food becomes scarce, the elders of the community blame his heresy and cast him out.
What follows is the familiar Lion King story of Mumbles making some ‘amusing’ new friends (mostly voiced by Robin Williams) before his triumphant return to his home. This journey is a lot more disturbing than what we have seen before in the cute animal animation genre, however. He is chased by scary seals, whales, and captured by humans. The insane asylum atmosphere of the zoo is so effective that it may put children off them for life. The film goes from being a familiar story of an outsider gaining acceptance to a crusading parable for environmentalism, as Mumble realises that it is humans, not he, that are disrupting the food chain in the Antarctic. After forcing us to face grim reality, the ending is a huge cop-out, with a completely ridiculous turn of events (if humans ever saw penguins tap dancing, I don’t think we’d see it as an obvious plea to stop over fishing the seas).
The action is punctuated by song and dance numbers of familiar standards by the penguins, with Brittany Murphy as the sexy siren singing her heart out. These were quite infectious, but the makers of the film should have decided whether they were going for a frothy musical, or a worthy tale of our neglect of the environment. This uncertainty is also reflected in the visuals, as the characters and landscapes are beautifully designed to look as real as possible, but the characters are doing things that obviously penguins don’t do. If they’d have made them more ‘cute’ and anthropomorphic as in most animations, then this would not have been a problem. Obviously they wanted to cash in on the success of March of the Penguins by making it look as similar as possible to that documentary.
Maybe I am over analysing this. After all, it’s just a cartoon for children, and you’re supposed to suspend your disbelief. But the real crime is that Happy Feet just isn’t funny. Most of the high-profile CGI animations have succeeded by being amusing to both children and adults. I only laughed once. Most of the comedy is left to Robin Williams in two roles, giving him the chance to portray not one, but two racial stereotypes! It makes you glad that Hollywood isn’t producing any more motor-mouthed comedians to be hilarious cartoon sidekicks in the vein of Williams and Eddie Murphy.
This is a surreal and annoying mix of many ideas that just don’t gel. The film-makers got one thing right, though. They created the Emperor Penguin version of Elijah Wood perfectly: perma-pubescent and with piercing blue eyes always on the verge of tears.
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