Okay, help me out film-buffs: Are all Jim Jarmusch movies as sloppily written and mechanically acted as The Dead Don't Die? Is this the point? I only appear to have seen one other thing on his resumé, but I tend to hear his name spoken with respect and some artistic reverence. And this movie inspires neither.
OUTBREAK The Dead Don't Die is a film where a zombie outbreak occurs in a small, backwater American town. That's about it. There's not really a story, it's more a series of events, most of which are interlinked by the chronology of the piece, if nothing else. The dead come back to life and start attacking the living, a lot of people die as a result. That's about it. Oh, and Iggy Pop in zombie-makeup looks exactly like Iggy Pop. Make of that what you will.
This feels like Jarmusch hates zombie films and has decided to take that out on an unsuspecting genre-audience. The movie is overflowing with clumsy, literal dialogue. Characters narrate their inner monologue, repeat each other as if they're stalling for time and describe everything they do or see. Form an audio standpoint, it's like a badly improvised radio drama that's somehow been caught on film.
The problem could be that stiltedly reproducing something in a wry yet artless manner is not the same as deconstructing it. And if you're not going to deconstruct your subject, don't try to make a smug, arthouse-friendly movie about it. All the knowing glances and fourth-wall-nudging in the world can't stop this from feeling like the first draft of a pastiche written by somebody who's only seen two zombie movies but figures they know enough to have a crack at writing their own anyway. Because if I can't let Crispian Mills get away with using fracking as a plot device, I'm sure as shit not going to let Jim Jarmusch walk out with it under his arm either.
MRS DOUBTFIRE That cast, though. You've got to assume they were drawn in by either the reputation or existing relationship with the director, rather than reading the script. That's assuming there's a script. Most of the delivery here sounds like the cast are either ad-libbing or having their lines fed directly to them through an earpiece as the camera rolls. It's all deliberate of course, but imaging spending this much money just for Bill Murray to look uncomfortably bored. The film has a few wry chuckles and some good ideas, but doesn't employ the vocabulary it needs to express them properly*1.
And because there's no structured story, Jim didn't have to write an ending! The film finishes because the characters die, with no drama, excitement or intrigue. A decomposing, stone-cold mess. Not half as clever as it thinks it is, but twice as boring.
I can tell that Jarmusch is trying to provoke the casual audience who will watch this because of its cast, its title or its poster-art. And if anything, I thoroughly respect the product for being precisely what he intended to make.
But The Dead Don't Die is the emperor's new clothes of zombie movies.
Tellingly, transparently so…
Level 1: Kylo Ren is in this. There's also a Star Destroyer reference which I imagine is supposed to come off as ironic, but it's as self-indulgent as everything else in the film.
*1 Now there's a Film-Twat™ thing to say, and I'm delighted it's come while writing about a Jim Jarmusch movie, if only because I know how vehemently yet disdainfully he'd disagree with it... [ BACK ]
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
Yeah, I wasn't going to watch this, but I've sat through the first two and my #FilmDay had a gap to fill.
So, much in the same way as a TV sitcom whose writers landed a commission for a spin-off feature film then had no real idea how to continue their story on the big screen, Hotel Transylvania 3 takes its characters out of the eponymous location and off on holiday*1. This is effectively an animated reboot of Are You Being Served. Fewer 'pussy' jokes, though.
Speaking of which, the script here is outstandingly ordinary, a quality which is reflected in the voice-cast's delivery. Smiles and chuckles come from the slapstick and sight-gags, but even these are used too sparingly for a movie which desperately wants you to think that it's fun. And an Indiana Jones-esque action-sequence in the middle arrives thoroughly un-earned.
There's a dearth of ambition about the whole project, as if the filmmakers were aiming for the 97 minute runtime as a mark of success, rather than the telling of a good story. It's not so much that Hotel Transylvania 3should be better (the preceding two films have proved that much), more that the writers are more interested spending time sharing uninteresting characters with little or nothing to actually say on any subtextual level. The father/daughter bonding and outsider-acceptance themes of the other entries have given way to Holiday On The Buses.
Considering that the Hotel Transylvania series is a 21st century animated comedy about monsters where imagination really is the only limit to what we see, there's a remarkable lack of imagination on display. Huge swathes of the movie feel like padding, and your visual storytelling technique has to be called into question when your screenplay features characters throughout the film just describing exactly what's happening on-screen, like a build in audio-description track.
The U-certificate means the execution of this has about as much edge as a marshmallow of course, but that's always been the way for these, and was unlikely to change at this late stage. But Sony's animation team have come on in leaps and bounds with the movement and texturing looking better than ever, although the character design for non-monster characters feels uninspired (plus, their propensity for retail-product placement is as mortifying as ever).
Much like Marvel's Inhumans, the most relatable character in this troubled production is a giant CGI dog who doesn't really have any dialogue.
Level 1: The guy behind the outstanding Star Wars: Clone Wars micro-series is, inexplicably, the director co-writer of this.
*1 Okay wait, have we really had three Hotel Transylvania films now where a "welcome to the Hotel California" pun hasn't been made? This tells you everything you need to know about the series' approach to comedy writing, of course. Not that it has the stoic restraint to avoid a glaringly obvious pun which seems like the sole reason the title was chosen, but more that the writing team didn't know it was there in the first place. [ BACK ]
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
Because if anyone is going to be able to blend mid 20th century Russian political satire and West End farce, it's going to be Armando Iannucci, the mind behind Alan Partridge, The Thick of It and Veep. In the company of writers David Schneider, Ian Martin and Fabien Nury, he's crafted a razor-sharp comedy which is about exactly what it says on the front, there: The Death of Stalin in Russia, 1953. It is very funny. By which I mean the film is very funny. Not the on-screen death of a 74 year old man. Although that is also very funny. In this film.
While the story takes place in its period setting, the script is interwoven with Tarantino-level bickering and a timeless British-level sarcasm (and not a cod-Russian accent to be heard, which only adds to the charm*1). The filmmakers have assembled an absolutely outstanding cast to deliver it, with everyone on blistering form. Central characters are introduced with brief in-scene title cards showing their name and position in the Soviet hierarchy, but most of what happens isn’t reliant on the audience bringing any prior knowledge. Shot in a hand-held documentary-style, the pacing for the first hour is one of escalating bedlam, with Stalin's demise creating a vacuum of both power and common-sense.
From the Act I opening of a panicked Paddy Considine, to the quiet bluster of Michael Palin and self-absorbed scheming of Simon Russell Beale, the film is the best example of institutional chaos you'll find short of the actual news. Although you might come for Steve Buscemi and Jeffrey Tambor, you'll stay for Jason Isaacs and Rupert Friend*2. In its second-hour though, the pace slows and shifts to a poignant ending I don’t think it quite pulls off. Then again, this section would probably have worked better with me if I knew anything at all about that period of history. I can’t hold Armando at fault for me not bringing any prior knowledge. Everything I saw in the meanwhile was evidence of a creative team at the top of their game.
As enjoyable as The Death Of Stalin is, Iannucci ‘s directorial home is really on the small screen. There’s little here that’s inherently cinematic, and although I’ll definitely watch it again, I doubt that will take place at the flicks.
Iannucci's aforementioned TV work.
This is quite unlike anything I've been lucky enough to see in the cinema.
Only if you can't wait for the DVD/BRD/VOD to land in around 17 weeks.
I think so, although I'm perhaps not best to judge it on a content-level.
*1 To the point where it seems odd at first that Olga Kurylenko has that twang to her voice, until you remember half a second later that that's her actual Ukranian/French accent when she performs in English. [ BACK ]
*2 It's Rupert Friend who gets the best line in the film as Stalin's tantrum-prone spoilt son, coaching an ice-hockey team by essentially just yelling at them. I promise you no film this year will deliver a more sincere exasperation than "Play better, you clattering fannies!!". Priceless. [ BACK ]
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
Okay, I'll cut straight to the chase. DreamWorks' latest animated offering The Boss Baby is either one of the blandest films I've ever seen, or one of the absolute darkest.
But let's deal with the first one first…
Ostensibly, the film is a comedy about sibling rivalry, particularly the one-sided variety which occurs when a new baby arrives in an already established family unit. The film's narrator and protagonist, Tim, is the only one not taken in by his new little brother's abundant cuteness, suspecting something's afoot with his odd 'when people aren't looking' behaviour. When Tim discovers that the infant works for the BabyCorp organisation and does indeed have a secret agenda, they begrudgingly reach an agreement to work together, in an animated re-imagining of the mismatched buddy-cop framework.
The problem is that other than slapstick and sight-gags, the film is inherently boring. The young protagonists start out as being equally irritating, and while their gradual character development eases this, it's executed in a way which is clichéd and perfunctory. The entire film works to a formula established by far more incisive and solid entries to cinematic canon, namely Toy Story and Despicable Me. And the goodwill of the former seems to be plundered by proxy as the set-props include digitally rendered versions of Rock'Em Sock'Em Robots, the Fisher-Price Chatter Telephone and bizarrely, a Skeletor action-figure (albeit one which doesn't feature the character's face, but is still definitely Skeletor). At a script-level, there are copyright-skirting references to Lord of the Rings and Mary Poppins, hoping to raise a smile with the older members of the audience.
But the mechanical and derivative nature of the storytelling is nothing compared to the presentation. The film has a sort of kitsch, Americana 1960s-sitcom aesthetic which is never fully realised thanks to the lacklustre Big Studio Animation™ production design. Truth be told, the all-too-brief Samurai Jack and popup-book vignettes are more interesting than anything else we see here. The generic pastel textures and oversize heads are the staples of background characters in other movies, but are applied across the board for this outing. We get an unremarkable animated baby in a business-suit and that's it. That's the joke. None of the characters have any... well, character, other than that one central conceit being stretched to within an inch of its life.
I suspect there's more than a bit of post-Trump satire*1 going on with The Baby's*2 high-powered business mannerisms and soundbites. Although since we're not yet in a post-Trump era, it feels worryingly out of place in a movie that plays things safe in almost every other area (or does it? see below). I'm not a parent and I'm not a child*3, so maybe that's the source of my disconnect. But I'm the older brother of a younger sister and I don't remember feeling any of the jealous anxiety that the film plays on (and it certainly didn't unearth any suppressed tensions). Maybe there's more to the emotional root of this film than the final presentation is letting on (again, see below).
The narrative juxtaposition between storytelling, memory, fantasy and reality is interesting, but never becomes more than a wry aside in the vein of 'don't kids do the funniest things?'. At one point in its development, I think The Boss Baby was probably quite a smart movie. I can only imagine that over-development resulted in the final product which underwhelmed me so. By the time you attach a main voice-cast who are now firmly in the B-List stage of their careers, it makes you wonder how much gas DreamWorks have left in the animation-tank…
The Boss Baby is a little bit funny and a little bit charming, but due to it having absolutely no personality, the film will disappear without trace. And thankfully so.
+ + + + +
…and then towards the end of the film, it began occurring to me how thematically distressing this all is. Narrated by the adult-Tim, the story exaggerates and undercuts the 'real' world frequently, showing the audience that the adventure playing out before the their eyes is a representation, rather than a documentary (obviously, but still). The white, tranquil pseudo-Heaven that we see at the beginning of the film, the literal in-story factory where children are manufactured and assigned to families if they're smiley (or behind-the-scenes 'management' if they're serious), is an established cinematic shorthand for the infamous "where do babies come from?" question.
So the Boss Baby comes into Tim's suburban life from this environment, and the boys' parents try continually to help them both get along, despite being initially and mutually distrustful. Over the course of the film, the brothers then begin to bond, working toward a common goal until they appreciate each other not in spite of their differences, but because of them. Then, with their mission accomplished, it's time for Boss Baby to return to headquarters. The farewell between the boys is bittersweet and sincere, but the same heartache isn't put upon their parents, as the Baby's minions are called upon to magically wipe their memories and remove all evidence of Boss Baby's presence in the house. Photographs are altered, toys cleared away, and life goes back to normal. The only person left in the house with knowledge of the story's events by this point is Tim. Looking down from his office, Boss Baby reflects on the lessons he's learned and decides he's ready to try the 'giggle test' again. This time he passes and is assigned to Tim's parents, being brought home as a new baby. The film ends with the three-part family being expanded to four, and Tim having the knowledge and experience to accept his new sibling from the off.
So towards the end of the film, it began occurring to me that this entire story which Tim has constructed is a coping-strategy for his first little-brother dying as an infant (probably from Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, but perhaps even some awful accident when the children were beating the crap out of each other), and the associated feelings of guilt and self-loathing brought on by not being welcoming to him in the first place. Tim has convinced himself that he eventually got on with the baby and engineered absolution in that he 'had to go back to Heaven'. His parents never spoke about the baby after the fact, which is why they removed all of the photographs and playthings from the house, leaving Tim's young brain to wonder over time how much of it he'd imagined, in a state of untreated, borderline-hallucinatory PTSD. When the parents conceive and produce a third child, they effectively treat it as their lost second one. And while it's certainly true that the story has a happy ending, it's not without an undertow of denial and absolute anguish.
None of this appears to be mentioned in the original book's Wiki entry or subsequent glowing reviews of course, but that's what I took away from the story. Although it's true my glass is often Half-Empty™.
So like I said, either the film is offensively bland, or horrifically dark. And given the U-rating and medium in which it's all delivered, I didn't particularly enjoy it either way…
Level 2: This film features the voice of Alec Baldwin of course and he was in 1990's The Hunt For Red October, alongside James Earl 'Vader' Jones and Tim 'Palpatine' Curry.
*1 Albeit the kind of broad-strokes satire you get on Saturday Night Live... #ComedySnob [BACK]
*2 Seriously though, the IMDB (and Google at large) just lists him as "Boss Baby". Has the actual, central character of this film not even got a name? Worse still, was the rest of the movie so overpoweringly bland that I didn't notice this at the time? I mean, it's quite often than I don't remember names of film characters once I'm out in the cinema foyer; I see it as a screenplay's commitment to making an audience actually care about what they're watching. But if the name of The Boss Baby is so unimportant (or worse still, if he deliberately hasn't got one), that makes the second-half of this review even more worrying... [BACK]
*3 Although Toys R Us and The Entertainer appear often enough on my card statements that you'd be forgiven for wondering. [BACK]
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
Back in 2012, the first Hotel Transylvania flick had its work cut out somewhat, as it was dropped into the same release slot as ParaNorman and Frankenweenie, both of which enjoyed their ghoulish heritage much more overtly, and both of which also played with heavier themes. This year, however, the Robert Smigel/Adam Sandler-penned sequel has a clear run at the box office, so how does it fare?
The answer is better than last time, if just as blandly, somehow. The main drawback seems to be that the film's 'spooky' setting is just that, rather than a technique to frame a more layered story. Primarily a comedy, the slapstick moments are well timed and executed, but the rest of the humour relies on Addams/Munsters-level punnery, much of which has been done before, elsewhere and with the tongue more firmly in the cheek. The family-audience I sat with guffawed heartily at the film's more riotous scenes, but anything calmer than those (which is the majority of the film) left them worryingly silent.
That said, the film dabbles at bringing some subtext to the party with slightly heavy-handed and faintly insincere themes of xenophobia and cross-generational relevance. They're pretty much slapped down on the table and not pondered over to deeply, but fair play to Smigel and Sandler for having them there at all. The idea that Dracula is still actually running a hotel is largely an afterthought this time round too, presumably because all of those gags were done to death in the first film. Again, credit where it's due, since I'd rather have it fleetingly referenced than a rehash of what went before. Taking the action away from the castle and into the outside world allows it to breathe more than its predecessor could.
Ultimately, Hotel Transylvania 2 doesn't do anything remotely new, but nor does it do anything too badly, which is where it scores its marks. Definitely a film for the younger crowd, there's nothing particularly spooky in there, more what a marketing committee thinks spooky should look like if you want to upset absolutely no-one. Like a Tim Burton cover-version with all the sass and the kitsch stripped away.
As harmlessly enjoyable as it all is, the film loses a point for Sony's shoehorning in of their own branded products whenever a mobile phone or television are on-screen, which is far too often. Shameful product-placement*1 (yet paradoxically shameless in its implementation).
One thing's for sure though: as Adam Sandler in the digital realm goes, the pixels of Hotel Transylvania 2 are far, far easier to stomach than the pixels of Pixels…
Oh, God no.
This is a Sunday afternoon DVD.
[Even if the words "Blu Ray Disc" are inserted into the film's script with the same deftness and subtlety as the Sony products. There's nothing here that will be lost by watching the film in standard-def.]
With the best will in the world, I should hope not.
It does.
Not really.
There isn't.
Director Genndy Tartakovsky was also the man behind the 2D-animated Star Wars: Clone Wars series.
*1 Although I'm also genuinely amazed at the Sony-film's numerous references to 'Batman' and 'Batmobile', which are owned by Warner Bros (although these are scripted lines only, there's nothing visual and no intellectual property lines are crossed).
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
