→ January 19, 2024
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The Boy and the Heron.

I’m an avowed Hayao Miyazaki fan, having seen every film he’s directed or written other than his first, 1978’s The Castle of Cagliostro, some of them multiple times. My Neighbor Totoro is a favorite of all of my kids, and my daughter has a modest collection of Totoro-themed trinkets, while I’d rank Spirited Away among the best animated films I’ve ever seen for the complexity of its story and the way it blends fantasy and a very specific form of psychological horror. After 2013’s The Wind Rises, Miyazaki announced his retirement (not for the first time), and it seemed right as that was one of his weaker films. Maybe he’d just lost his fastball in his 70s.

He unretired at some point in the interim, spending seven years making his latest and likely final film, The Boy and the Heron. It certainly feels like a swan song, with a story that’s inspired by his own childhood and is told through his typical lens of fantasy, nature, and food, and ending on a beautiful note that seems to say goodbye to all that. It’s very Miyazaki, enough to satisfy his longtime fans, but takes a darker tone for much of the story than anything else he’s done in the last twenty years.

The Boy is Mahito Maki, a young child in Japan in World War II whose mother dies when the Tokyo hospital where she works burns down. Soon after, Mahito’s father marries his late wife’s sister, Notsuko, and they move to her estate in the countryside to escape the bombing. While there, Mahito encounters a talking, taunting heron, and wanders into an abandoned tower on the property with a haunted history. You can probably guess that we’re going in that tower, with the heron, and very strange things are going to happen there, which would be correct, as Notsuko – by then very pregnant – wanders into the forest as if in a trance, and Mahito goes on a quest to find her that takes him into another world, one populated by angry parakeets, starving pelicans, little white sprites called wara-wara, and the solution to more than just the mystery of Notsuko’s disappearance.

The Boy and the Heron is chock full of Miyazaki staples, starting with the unbelievable landscapes, lush with greens and vibrant floral tones – a reminder that hand-drawn animation is still capable of blowing us away by evoking the same sort of sensations we get from the ultra-realism of modern CGI. There are adorable tiny creatures made for merchandising in the adorable wara-wara, just like the soot sprites of Totoro. There’s food, a lot of it, which somehow looks delicious even when it doesn’t look very real. And there’s magic of the Miyazaki variety, like fire witches and talking herons (well, just one) and a hallway of doors that lead to different worlds. It’s not fan service, but it’s comfort food for fans all the same.

Where The Boy and the Heron succeeds is the way it layers a metaphorical version of Miyazaki’s life and career on top of the actual story of Mahito. Mothers in hospitals and cities under attack are common motifs in his films, both drawn from his own childhood, as is the distant relationship Mahito has with his own father – a pattern Miyazaki has said he’s repeated with his older son Goro, who has directed several Studio Ghibli films himself. A large portion of the plot concerns the ideas of world-building and the responsibilities of a creator (or, by extension, an artist), and when the movie ends by closing a literal door on one of those worlds, it feels like Miyazaki himself saying he’s done as a filmmaker. Mahito’s entire story arc from the moment he meets the heron – voiced in the English dub by an unrecognizable Robert Pattinson – seems to serve as a loosely figurative interpretation of Miyazaki’s career in animation, from his first encounters with the form through the fifteen years he worked before writing and directing his first feature to his reluctant decision(s) to walk away.

There’s a long period where Mahito is in the other world where the story loses some momentum, between his encounter with the wara-wara and his entry into the tower, and the film probably could have benefited from some editing here – not that anyone was likely to tell Miyazaki what to do with his own film. Some of this comes together in the ending, including the meaning of the tower, although Miyazaki also leaves some things unexplained, as is his wont; the conclusion turns out to be incredibly moving, especially through that lens of him using the hall of doors and Mahito’s choice to pass through one as his own way of saying to audiences that he’s done. It’s in the upper half of his films, and if it doesn’t quite reach the heights of Spirited Away or Princess Mononoke or the sheer joy of Totoro or Kiki’s Delivery Service, it’s a wonderful and moving way to end a Hall of Fame career.

The Boy and the Heron just won the Golden Globe for Best Animated Feature, which has gone to the eventual winner of the Oscar in that category in 75% of the years since the Globes introduced their category, including the last three winners. The Oscar race feels like it’s coming down to this film, a hand-drawn marvel that’s the Academy’s final chance to honor a legend in the field, against Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse, one of the most innovative animated films ever and the sequel to a past winner. I think the Spider-Verse movie is the more worthy winner, but The Boy and the Heron is more likely to win, and my sentimental side hopes it does. Miyazaki has only won this honor once, for Spirited Away, and only been nominated two other times, as the Academy passed over Ponyo and two films he wrote but didn’t direct, Arrietty and From Up on Poppy Hill. Giving The Boy and the Heron this award would be the sort of lifetime achievement honor the Academy seems to love, and the film itself would be the easy choice in most years anyway.

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→ December 18, 2023
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Spider-man: Across the Spider-Verse.

I was one of the few skeptics when it came to the first Spider-verse animated film, the Oscar-winning 2018 film Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse, which I thought got too much credit for interesting animation and some great cameos but still adhered too much to the traditional superhero fight scenes to resolve its plot. However, this year’s sequel, Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse, is a banger. Not only do I think it’s going to end up the best animated film of the year*, it might be one of the best of all time.

* I haven’t seen The Boy and the Heron yet, and that’s already won some best-of-2023 awards as well.

We return to the story of Miles Morales, the Afro-Latino boy bitten by a radioactive spider, who discovers there’s a whole multitude of spiderpeople and even spideranimals throughout the multiverse, including Gwen Stacy, who we saw in the first film, along with some new characters who have formed a sort of transdimensional guild to try to maintain the various timelines and prevent the multiverse from collapsing. This film, like the first one, doesn’t worry too much about the cosmological implications and focuses on the story and characters – actually, it does better with the characters than the first film did – and plunges Miles right into a complex story that has some fight scenes but relies far more on character development. There’s a villain, The Spot, who of course has a very personal beef with the titular hero, although as the story progresses he fades somewhat into the background of the plot. If anything, it’s more of a mystery than a typical superhero plot, as something is wrong with the timelines and Miles is in a unique position to find out what’s going on.

The animation in the first Spider-Verse film was different from that in most animated films, mixing some hand-drawn elements with CGI, dubbed “2.5D” animation because it combined the 3D style of computer animation with the 2D style of traditional hand-drawn work. The innovation didn’t go beyond that, however, and at times it became a little tiring to watch because my eyes would struggle to figure out the perspective. This film really perfects the method, though, and both enhances it to give it that comic-book-plus feel while also exploring different artistic styles – each instance of the multi-verse, and each Spider-entity that hails from it, gets its own unique look and feel, making the entire endeavor a visual feast unlike any animated film I can remember. It’s not the ultra-realism of Pixar’s computer wizardry, nor the artistic marvels of Miyazaki’s work, but a cornucopia of colors, styles, and textures that would alone make the movie worth watching.

The story, however, is miles ahead – pun intended – of its predecessor. That film set up the main character, but the plot was garden-variety superhero stuff. We’ll have to see if the writers stick the landing in the sequel, but the story here is much richer, with more complexity to Miles’ character, some more depth to Gwen’s, and a plot that doesn’t depend on beating the bad guy up – in fact, they try that and it doesn’t work terribly well. I didn’t see the ending and cliffhanger coming, although I may be unusual in that bit, and even so I don’t think it would have altered my appreciation of the plot up to that point anyway. There’s some “how will he ever get out of this?” to it, but that part is uninteresting – of course he’s getting out of it – relative to the broader stories of how they’ll repair the timeline and stop the Spot. (An aside: Jason Schwartzman voices the Spot, and might have the best performance among the voice actors in the film. On top of his strong performance in Asteroid City, he’s fighting to change the opinion I’ve held of him since turning off Rushmore 20 minutes into it.)

My daughter, who has been a big MCU fan for years (although that’s tapering off), absolutely loved this movie other than the cliffhanger and long wait for the final installment, for almost all of the same reasons I did: the clever story, the two interesting characters, and the wildly innovative animation. I assume it’s going to win the big Best Animated Feature prizes this winter, although The Boy and the Heron might get a boost as Miyazaki’s farewell film (maybe), and I can’t argue with that. It’s at least a lot more deserving of the honors than the first film.

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→ November 25, 2023
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Wish.

Wish, the newest film from Disney Animation, would have been much better if they’d just made a fresh video for the Nine Inch Nails song and called it a day. Instead, it’s a self-congratulatory movie with an adequate story, forgettable music, and almost no humor for anyone over four years old.

The movie takes place on the island of Rosas in the Mediterranean, which seems to draw on Spanish, Italian, and Maltese cultures and architecture, where the population is ruled by a benevolent king named Magnifico. Before creating the kingdom, Magnifico lost his family to an invading tribe and chose to become sorcerer, and in so doing learned how to grant wishes. When Rosas residents turn 18 or emigrants become citizens, they give their greatest wish to Magnifico, who stores it in his castle for safe keeping. Once a month, he grants one wish of his choosing. Enter Asha, whose grandfather Sabino turns 100 the day of one of these wish ceremonies, and who wishes to become Magnifico’s apprentice, only to discover that he’s not the benevolent king he appears to be. Since it’s a Disney movie and you know things will work out in the end, it’s not much of a spoiler to say that Asha will lead the people of Rosas as they work to overthrow the tyrant Magnifico and free their wishes.

The story here has potential, and the ending is one of the better ones among Disney movies, at least incorporating the film’s themes of hope and community into a resolution that’s internally consistent. Getting there, though, is a real drag. Asha (Ariana Dubose) is a mostly one-note character, driven by good intentions without much depth or complexity, and she experiences zero growth or development over the course of the film. She wins by being good, and by being smart, but that’s it. She doesn’t have an arc so much as she has a straight line. Magnifico (Chris Pine) at least changes as the film progresses, and while it’s for the worse, hey, at least it’s an ethos. There’s something to be said for a villain who starts out as just a little bit evil and becomes all the way evil by the film’s conclusion, and who gets there for an entirely mundane reason – he’s corrupted by power. He wants something Asha has, but his story is ultimately one of absolute power corrupting absolutely. There’s more depth to his character than there is to Asha’s, and that’s one of the film’s main flaws.

It has more flaws, though, believe you me. It’s just not funny at all – there are a few decent sight gags, maybe, but the Comic Relief Goat (Alan Tudyk) is just painful because you know he’s supposed to get laughs and he doesn’t. I can’t fathom how this script got through the number of people at Disney who are involved in making movies without anyone pointing out just how devoid of humor it is. The music is also wildly disappointing; I would argue there are two decent songs of the seven originals in the movie, the rousing “Knowing What I Know Now” (which feels like a big Broadway number that might take you into intermission) and “This Wish,” which has some clumsy lyrics but solid music, and plays a key role in the story. Magnifico’s main song is dreadful, and “I’m a Star” feels like a deleted track from a Kidz Bop record.

Then there’s the fact that this movie is a 90-minute celebration of the studio that released it. Rosa’s seven friends map one-to-one to the seven dwarfs, without much embellishment or expansion. (Grumpy/Gabo is probably the best of the bunch.) There are direct and indirect allusions to past Disney films, many of which are just too obvious to be enjoyable – part of the fun of references and Easter eggs is finding them, but most of the allusions here might as well have pop-up bubbles pointing them out. Even the attempt to nod back to the classic Disney films with CG animation that evokes the hand-drawn style fails, because the characters look extremely flat and cartoonish.

Wish seems on pace to be the studio’s third financial flop in its last four, after last year’s Strange World (which I haven’t bothered with) and Raya and the Last Dragon (which opened in March 2021, so the pandemic hurt its box office). I don’t think commercial performance has any bearing on a film’s worth, but Wish seems to serve no purpose beyond making money. It’s a movie about how great Disney movies are, except it’s not great and it isn’t doing well at the box office. With a slew of great animated films this year, including the second Spider-verse movie, Nimona, and the upcoming The Boy and the Heron, Wish probably won’t even land an Oscar nomination for Best Animated Feature, which would mark the first time in sixteen years that two straight Disney Animation films missed the cut. Perhaps that’s as indicative as anything of how far the studio seems to have fallen.

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→ January 10, 2023
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Marcel the Shell with Shoes On.

Marcel the Shell with Shoes On is the full-length feature based on the series of short films from 2010 that featured the title character, a one-inch tall shell with an eye in its aperture and, yes, shoes on, voiced by Jenny Slate. It utilizes stop-motion animation to bring the dimunitive, wide-eyed shell to life as it shows us around the world he has created in an AirBnB, where he lives with his grandmother (voiced by Isabella Rossellini) after most of their family vanished when a previous tenant moved out. It’s charming, and slight, and for most of its 80-odd minutes it feels like a short that’s been overstretched, but the whole thing is salvaged by a tremendous finale. (You can rent it on Amazon, iTunes, etc.)

Marcel and his grandmother have jury-rigged a bunch of devices from household objects to help themselves adapt to their living space, most notably rolling around the apartment in a tennis ball, and to allow them more easily move between their indoor and outdoor environments. The gimmick in this film is that a guest at this AirBnB has decided to film his conversations with Marcel and post them online, where they find a cult following (as the real clips did), which leads to interest from the favorite show of Marcel and his grandmother, 60 Minutes. Their favorite host, Lesley Stahl, ends up visiting the apartment to interview Marcel and explain his quest to try to find the rest of his family, which, of course, leads to the big finish.

There’s not a whole lot more to Marcel the Shell with Shoes On; either you get on this film’s wavelength, and you enjoy the dialogue between the interviewer and the shell, or you don’t. The film is more witty and cute than laugh-out-loud funny, although the line about “everything comes out in the wash” did get a big laugh from me. Some of Marcel’s soliloquies veer awfully close to “inspirational poster in a waiting room” territory, and those were the ones where I found myself tuning out – that’s great in a short film or sketch but wears very thin over an hour-plus. With only the three characters for the vast majority of the movie’s running time, there’s a sameness that sets in until Lesley Stahl shows up to save the day.

From the point the filming of the show-within-the-movie starts, the movie’s tempo picks up, and suddenly it’s not entirely about Marcel’s witticisms and observations. Cute has a half-life, and it turns out it’s pretty short. When Marcel reunites with his family, the whole tone changes as well, and it’s surprisingly emotional as well, while also showing off a higher level of animation quality. That final twenty minutes or so takes this movie from below the ‘recommend’ line to just above it.

Marcel earned one of the five nominations for Best Animated Feature Film at this year’s Golden Globes, although I’m going to guess it has no chance to beat both Turning Red (which was mid) and Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio (which I haven’t seen yet). I’ve only seen one other potential Oscar contender, another stop-motion film, Wendell & Wild, which was more entertaining throughout than this one but had a less inventive story. You can see Wendell & Wild, which was co-written by Jordan Peele, on Netflix; it has some important themes about race, gentrification, and the weight of history, but I thought the main character’s narrative was too familiar. Also, they kill the parents in the first scene, which I thought was trademarked by Disney. I’m hoping whatever wins the awards is still out there among films I haven’t seen yet.

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→ March 30, 2021
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Shaun the Sheep: Farmageddon.

I wouldn’t normally write up a movie like Shaun the Sheep: Farmageddon, now on Netflix, one of the nominees for this year’s Academy Award for Best Animated Feature, because it’s ostensibly a kids’ movie – and I say that as someone who has long loved Shaun the Sheep and Aardman stuff in general. The first StS season came out when my daughter was maybe 3 or 4, and she and I would watch them together and laugh, and her giggle would just make me laugh some more. The episode in season 1 where the sheep are visited by a couple of mischievous aliens helped my daughter come to the conclusion that “aliens have one eye, monsters have two eyes.” (It’s still one of my favorites.)

The first Shaun the Sheep movie was also nominated for an Oscar, and it was funny, but frivolous. That was a great movie for kids, one that you could enjoy as an adult, but not something that had a second layer for the older parts of the audience like most Pixar movies do. Shaun the Sheep: Farmageddon, a stand-alone sequel, goes way beyond the first movie, though. It is absolutely packed with references and callbacks to classic science fiction, from H.G. Wells to Doctor Who to 2001 to The X-Files to E.T., over 50 Easter eggs that I saw myself (I watched it twice to try to spot more) and that I read about online after watching. And it’s still really funny, with great sight gags (there is no dialogue in any Shaun the Sheep films or episodes … they are sheep, after all) and a plot that winks at conventions of sci-fi in general and the hoary alien-visitation gag in particular.

Shaun is the ringleader of the sheep at Mossy Bottom Farm where, as with the titular animals in Chicken Run, the sheep are organized, and often try to outwit The Farmer (not that hard) and his dog/foreman Bitzer (a bit harder) to try to get more food, have more fun, or annoy the asshole pigs who live next door. (The pigs are, sadly, not in Farmageddon enough.) This time around, though, they have a visitor – an alien child named Lu-La who crashes their spaceship nearby and ends up in the Farmer’s barn, unbeknownst to the Farmer, who sees a news report about the old man who said he saw the spaceship and decides to capitalize by building a ramshackle attraction he calls Farmageddon. What that really means, of course, is that he makes Bitzer and the sheep build it, while Shaun and Lu-La try to hide from everyone around – including the very Scully-like Agent who is determined to find the spaceship and capture Lu-La.

Hijinks ensue, as they always do when Shaun is involved, but the great surprise of this movie is that it is absolutely packed with allusions, references, callbacks, in-jokes, and more. One Doctor Who bit my daughter and I caught just slayed us, and apparently there’s another one we missed around the Fourth Doctor that was somewhere in the background. There’s a symbol in a pizza box right when Shaun and Lu-La first meet that I didn’t catch the first time around, but it was one of at least two references to that particular movie – and I got the second one. There’s a mechanic’s shop called H.G. Wheels. The Agent’s code to access a locked room is a reference. There are just so many things to catch in this movie that there are still more I haven’t, and I don’t even think the few lists I’ve seen of Easter eggs and trivia are close to complete.

I recognize that in-jokes and allusions don’t make a movie great, but everything Shaun the Sheep is at least good enough, and this sequel has a more entertaining plot than the original. I know Soul is the favorite for the Oscar, but, man, I’d watch this for a third or fourth time before I watched that a second time.

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→ March 5, 2021
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Wolfwalkers.

Wolfwalkers is the latest film from the Irish animation studio Cartoon Saloon, the 2-D specialists who have received Academy Award nominations for all three of their previous full-length films, Song of the Sea, The Secret of Kells, and The Breadwinner. Based on an original story by Will Collins, writer of Song of the Sea, this film – available only on Apple TV+ right now – is Cartoon Saloon’s best yet, with its most cohesive story and stunning hand-drawn animation, enough that it should win the studio their first Oscar, even though that won’t likely come to pass.

The story takes place in the 1600s in Kilkenny, a town in southern Ireland, where Robyn and her father Bill Goodfellowe have just arrived. The town is threatened by wolves in the nearby forest, which the town’s Lord Protector wishes to clear-cut, which would kill off the wolves or force them to move to another stand. Bill is a soldier, and wants Robyn to stay at home, for her own protection and other reasons that will become apparent, while Robyn is every young person in every animated movie ever – she wants to go out, explore, be a warrior, and so on. She gets into trouble multiple times, and ends up in the forest herself, where she discovers a Wolfwalker, a young girl named Mebh who can project herself into a corporeal wolf, leaving her human body in repose. The two become friends, and Robyn realizes that her father and her town will destroy Mebh’s entire pack – and kill Mebh’s mother, who left in her wolf form some weeks before and has yet to return.

The themes here are pretty straightforward – mankind’s inability to find balance with nature or respect other sentient species, and the dangerous combination of superstition and ignorance – and the Lord Protector character is fairly one-note, although he’s less overtly evil than the typical villain in animated fare. The relationship between the two girls is the real heart of the story, and the best sequences are when the two are together in human or wolf form, from their initial bickering to a very real argument that starts because Robyn tries to protect Mebh without respecting the latter’s agency. The relationship between Robyn and her father could have been more fleshed out early in the film, although it’s authentic enough as it is.

What sets Wolfwalkers apart from other animated films, and even Cartoon Saloon’s prior work, is the animation style. Cartoon Saloon’s animated people have a certain look to them, which is no different here, but the world around the characters explodes off the screen in color and texture – and that includes Mebh’s hair, which you’ve seen if you’ve seen any promotional materials for the film. The Breadwinner‘s setting required a grim color palette and harsh backgrounds, but Wolfwalkers is set on the Emerald Isle and the animators make sure you never forget it. It’s a visual feast, and even the occasional shot within the town walls, where colors are muted and you can almost feel the dust and soot in the air, can still be a marvel of layering and imagination.

You can guess most of the story’s ending by its midpoint, although the way our heroines defeat the Lord Protector has at least one surprise in it, so the development of Robyn’s character, and her relationship with Mebh, end up carrying the weight in the plot. It’s fortunate that the script is up to that task, and the two young women who voice those lead characters, Honor Kneafsey and Eva Whittaker respectively, are so good, with an on-screen relationship reminiscent of the one the Fanning sisters showed in My Neighbor Totoro. There’s a little violence here that would make this inappropriate for the youngest viewers, but less than you’d find in a typical super-hero movie (including Into the Spider-Verse). I haven’t seen all of the possible nominees yet, but I’m high enough on Wolfwalkers to say it’s going to be the best animated film of 2020.

Wolfwalkers was nominated for the Golden Globe for Best Animated Feature Film, but lost out to Pixar’s Soul, which seems likely to recur at the Oscars, where Onward (meh) and Over the Moon will probably get two of the other three nominations but have no chance to win. I don’t think there’s any comparison here; Soul is the more technically impressive film, and funnier, but has a far less interesting story, worse character development, and isn’t as visually appealing.It’s just very hard for other studios to beat Pixar/Disney; those studios have taken 13 of the 19 Oscars in this category, and 7 of the last 8. They often deserve the wins, but have also won several for no apparent reason other than commercial popularity – Frozen over both The Wind Rises and Ernest & Celestine comes to mind, as does Brave over, well, anything decent – so the odds seem to be stacked against any competing studio. Wolfwalkers is clearly the better film, however, and if you are one of the 18 people in the United States who has Apple TV+, add this to your queue.

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→ January 5, 2021
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Soul.

Soul just doesn’t have one.

I’ve avoided joining the chorus bemoaning the decline in the heart and spirit of Pixar’s scripts since their original batch of ideas, which more or less ended with WALL-E; since then, only Inside Out has met their earlier standard of greatness, although I might concede the point on Toy Story 4, a good movie that didn’t really need to exist (other than to give me a reason to say “traaaash?” to the kids). But it’s true: They’ve gone downhill since they exhausted the first set of concepts, and there doesn’t seem to be any sign that they’re getting back on track. Onward was dismal all around, enough that I have forgotten numerous times that I actually saw that movie in 2020. Some of the sequels have been entertaining, but they’re not very novel, and none has matched its predecessor for ingenuity or insight.

Soul was somewhat more promising, not least because it was the first Pixar movie to star a Black protagonist and feature a largely Black voice cast. That’s praiseworthy, as is the work that went into avoiding the stereotyped depictions of Black Americans in animation throughout history. The score is also great, between the original jazz compositions by Jon Batiste and the ambient background music by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross (both of Nine Inch Nails). And of course the movie looks fantastic; Pixar’s ability to create realistic-looking landscapes and city scenes has long surpassed my mind’s ability to comprehend it. I know what I’m watching isn’t real, and yet I hesitate.

That makes it all the more disappointing that Soul‘s story is just so flat. It’s Inside Out in the afterworld. It’s Brave without the cool accents. It’s It’s a Wonderful Life with less schmaltz. There’s just nothing new here at all. It doesn’t even offer us something on its main subject – death, and the meaning it ascribes to life.

The quest takes Joe Gardner (Jamie Foxx), a music teacher and jazz pianist who falls down a manhole and ends up on the verge of death – with his soul departing his body in a sort of celestial error and heading into the Great Beyond – on the very day he finally gets what he believes will be the big break in his career. Once there, he runs into 22 (Tina Fey), a wayward soul who has no interest in going to earth and inhabiting a meatsuit as a human being. Joe gets the idea that he can use 22 to earn his way back to his own body, which, of course, goes awry, so the two have to learn some Great Lesson and realize that what they originally wanted was, in fact, not the thing most likely to make them happy.

There’s a lot of humor in Soul, but too much of it comes from side characters. Rachel House is great as Terry, an accountant of souls in the Great Beyond, but she’s just re-creating her policewoman character from The Hunt for the Wilderpeople (which is fantastic, by the way – both the movie and her role in it). Graham Norton has some good lines as Moonwind, a sign twirler on Earth who is a sort of pirate soul in the Great Beyond. Daveed Diggs is mostly wasted in a minor role as a friend of Joe’s, and Richard Ayoade and Alice Braga are underutilized as two of the many counselors in the Great Beyond who are all, for some reason, named Jerry. Fey gets some big laughs when her character first appears, but the script doesn’t keep 22’s manic energy going for very long, and Joe is just a straight man here.

I could live with all of that if the script had anything to say on its main theme, but it doesn’t. This is pop philosophy at best, some pablum about appreciating the life you have, and living it to its fullest, rather than striving for, say, what culture or society tell you are the marks of success or of a happy life. The elegy to life as one worth living is a good message, but hardly one we haven’t seen hundreds of times. It’s the main point of It’s a Wonderful Life, and that movie is 75 years old.

I don’t mean to disparage the importance of Soul‘s representation, which will probably be its most lasting legacy, and perhaps continue to create opportunities for filmmakers, in and beyond animation, who are themselves people of color or wish to build stories around people of color. Soul is superficially entertaining, easy on the eyes, and well-paced. It’s better than Onward, or Monsters University, or Finding Dory, but not as good as Coco, which had something to say and spotlighted an entire culture, or Inside Out, which sits in the top echelon of Pixar’s films for its pairing of real insight on the human brain and the powerful emotional resonance of its story. Soul, for all its jazz, just didn’t move the needle.

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→ February 6, 2019
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Tito and the Birds.

The Brazilian film Tito and the Birds (original title Tito e os Pássaros) was one of 25 animated titles eligible for this year’s Academy Award for Best Animated Feature Film, just now getting a release to U.S. theaters in both subtitled and English dubbed versions. It’s a visual feast with a story that is modern in details, classic in theme, and hews closely to the story templates of most animated films that try to appeal simultaneously to adult audiences and to most kids. It’s dark for its genre, but full of hope, with kids as its heroes and a simple message, cogently delivered, en route to a spectacular ending. (I saw the subtitled version.)

This year will mark the 19th time the Academy has given out a Best Animated Feature Film prize, with the number of nominees in each year tied to the number of eligible films – if fewer than 16 films are eligible, three earn nominations; otherwise, five get nods. The history of the award shows three strong biases: The Academy loves major studio releases, they prefer computer-animated films, and they strongly favor English-language films. Only one animated film that wasn’t originally written in English has won the honor (Hiyao Miyazaki’s Spirited Away won in 2002, the second year of the award); there have never been more than two nominees in languages other than English, with that last occurring in 2013 (Ernest & Celestine, which is wonderful, and Miyazaki’s The Wind Rises). The last film that wasn’t computer-animated to win was the Wallace and Gromit feature in 2005. This year’s slate of five includes two Disney/Pixar titles and one Sony Animation title, plus one co-produced by Fox Animation and Europe’s enormous Studio Babelsberg. With Mirai, a Japanese feature that wasn’t from Miyazaki or his Studio Ghibli, taking the fifth spot, the odds were stacked against Tito from the start – and then you add that the writers and directors were themselves first-timers and I don’t think this ever had a shot at a nomination. So with all of that prologue, and recognizing this hill points almost straight up, I’ll give my opinion: If Tito and the Birds wasn’t the best animated film of 2018, it was damn close, and its exclusion would be an embarrassment if the Academy were capable of that sentiment.

Tito takes place in a slightly altered version of the present, as a new pandemic begins around a disease of fear. Doctors don’t know what causes it or how it spreads, but it causes people to shrivel into shapeless blobs and, in its final and incurable stage, into rocks. The answer to the riddle of the disease seems to lie with the birds, which is where Tito and his scientist father Dr. Rufus come in; Dr. Rufus has been trying for years to build a machine to allow us to understand the language of birds, in part because he believes they are trying to warn humanity of some impending catastrophe. The machine fails and Dr. Rufus goes into exile, which leaves Tito and his friends Sarah, Buiú, and the wealthy scion Teo to try to rebuild the machine and stop the epidemic, even as Teo’s father Alaor, the film’s main antagonist, tries to stoke the fears through his television shows so he can sell real estate in his new, walled-off Dome Gardens.

Alaor is Trump, obviously – the pre-election Trump, using his platform as a reality TV celebrity to stoke fear for his own financial benefit, ignorant of or simply unsympathetic to the damage he might be wreaking on society as a whole. The disease vector is never identified in the film – this is a fear disease of fear itself, which means that Alaor can accelerate its spread by reminding people of all of the dangers in the world, foremost among which is other people. The epidemic rages as the kids work together against the city’s Gestapo-like biohazard agents and race to rebuild Dr. Rufus’ machine, failing one time after another as the disease even threatens to overtake each of them. The conclusion wasn’t what I expected – the writers had an easy way to wrap up the story, but took the long way round, and it works quite beautifully on both literal and metaphorical levels. The scripts speaks to how society should confront its fears, such as the rampant xenophobia that has infected our national dialogue, but also has a message that should resonate with anyone who’s had to cope with individual fears or anxiety.

The visuals here match up to the quality of the story, with an oil-painted look to the backgrounds that balances between impressionist and post-impressionist painting styles, including land and seascapes that reminded me of last year’s Loving Vincent, which took actual Van Gogh paintings and used them as backdrops for the entire movie. In our era of hyperrealistic computer animation, there’s a nostalgic pleasure in the exaggerated, inexact depictions of the characters themselves – Buiú in particular is my favorite, and the way he’s drawn reminded me of Jason from Home Movies. Their slapdash look contrasts well with the bold colors and huge strokes of the backgrounds when the characters are outside, complemented by the small elements on screen when the characters are indoors (e.g., the blue flame under a tea kettle).

That combination of a great story with strong animation feels like such a throwback, especially since computer-animated films dominate the box office as well as the awards in the category. (The Annie Awards split their Best Feature category in 2015, adding a category for independent animated features, and Tito and the Birds earned a nomination there, losing to Mirai.) It’s probably a matter of personal taste, but this kind of animation feels both nostalgic and yet still fresh, because there can always be something new when pen meets paper. For a film that began life as a script in 2011 and was finished in 2016-17, Tito and the Birds feels like it could have been finished yesterday, yet will remain relevant for a generation to come.

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→ December 11, 2018
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Mirai.

Mirai, a Japanese animated film that isn’t from Hiyao Miyazaki but is very much in the tradition of his films and those of his Studio Ghibli, snagged the fifth Golden Globe nomination for Best Animated Feature, along with the four obvious nominees this year (including Isle of Dogs). Directed by Mamoru Hosoda, Mirai tells the story of a young Japanese family from the perspective of the son, Kun, who seems to be about four years old, and how his life changes when his baby sister Mirai arrives, upending Kun’s world, especially as his father decides to work from home and take care of the kids.

The plot itself is very simple and sweet: Kun is fascinated at first by the baby, but quickly realizes she isn’t going to be a playmate (at least not yet), and that her presence means he’s getting less time and attention from his parents, so he starts to say she’s boring and he hates her and the usual stuff. The family lives in a curiously-shaped house that has a small enclosed yard, and when Kun goes there in the middle of one of his tantrums or otherwise storms off, he has these … experiences, never specifically identified as dreams or even explained as real or imagined, but where the family dog is a tall young man with shaggy hair, or Mirai appears as a teenager and asks Kun for help with something. (The name Mirai means “future,” so there’s some wordplay involved here that doesn’t quite translate; the Japanese title is Mirai no Mirai, meaning “Mirai from the future.”)

Mirai is whimsical the way most Miyazaki and similar Japanese animated films are, with some genuinely funny sequences like when Kun, teenaged Mirai, and the human version of the dog are trying to creep into the house to put something away and then must creep up on Kun’s father to retrieve a little bamboo piece stuck to his pants. It’s entirely a visual gag, one of several strong ones that dot the film. And the handful of landscape shots are stunning, whether out in a field or forest or, at one point, on a rainy city street, as well as shots of trains and within Kun & Mirai’s family “tree” that evoked a sense of motion like you’re speeding through a tunnel or on a roller coaster. If we don’t quite have a cat bus or parents turning into hogs, we do still get the blending of reality and fantasy that characterize the genre and allow Hosoda to tell us Kun’s story from the child’s perspective without it becoming a tired mess.

The story drifts along through Kun’s various fits over trivial stuff either directly around Mirai or around how his parents are different now that he has a sibling, until he has the worst tantrum of all because he wants to wear his yellow pants (they’re in the dryer) on a family trip. This leads to Kun running away, or at least imagining it, the longest of these dream sequences and by far the darkest – probably not appropriate for young kids, even though everything before that would be fine for little ones. This is also what separates Mirai from so many other cute but ultimately forgettable animated films; Hosoda doesn’t pull up short, showing viewers a graphic depiction of what it’s like to be a child who’s lost and terrified, calling back an image we saw at the start of the film in one of Kun’s board books.

Writing as a parent who still remembers how difficult the first few months were after my daughter was born, when her mom was still recovering from a difficult delivery and neither of us was getting enough quality sleep, I thought the whole air of this story felt very authentic. I have memories of sitting at the kitchen table, trying to write or even think through my fatigue, while also trying to do my part around the house (cooking and some cleaning) and feeling like doing little more than going back to sleep. I can’t imagine how much harder it is when you have an infant and another little one around.

The English dub has voice-overs from John Cho and Rebecca Hall as Kun’s parents and Daniel Dae Kim in a smaller role as Kun’s great-grandfather – a war hero who built motorcycles, just generally an all-around badass – who appears in one of Kun’s escapades, all of whom are excellent if perhaps a little too easy to recognize (especially Cho, who is so damn good in everything he does). GKids is doing a limited theatrical release, showing the movie exactly once in my local multiplex over the weekend, so if you get the chance to see it near you on the big screen, it’s worth seeking out.

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→ June 18, 2018
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Incredibles 2.

Incredibles 2 comes almost fifteen years after the first installment’s release, but takes place immediately after the events of the previous film – literally, as we see Mr. Incredible & his family fighting the Underminer (John Ratzenberger making his obligatory appearance), which is how the first movie ended. That sets off a new story that bears a lot of resemblance to the original but flips the script so that Elastigirl is now the superhero out fighting crime, while Mr. Incredible turns into Mr. Mom and has to feed the kids, help Dash with his math homework, navigate Violet’s first foray into dating, and deal with Jack-Jack’s hitherto unknown array of spontaneously-appearing superpowers. It is just as good as the first movie, but without the boost the first movie got from being new. We know all these characters and we know how their world operates. The magic of meeting them all for the first time is now replaced by the comfort of seeing all the familiar faces and places and hearing those same voices (“daaaaahlink”) after so many years away.

The movie forks early on into two subplots that, of course, will rejoin near the end so someone can save the day – and really, if you can’t figure out where all this is going, you haven’t watched a Pixar movie before. Winston Deaver (Bob Odenkirk) is a communications tycoon, something Frozone explains to us in a clumsy aside worthy of an SVU episode, and a longtime fan of superheroes, just as his father was. He and his sister (Catherine Keener) have a plan to make supers legal again by launching a PR campaign around Elastigirl, putting a camera in her uniform and then letting the public see just what good work she’s doing fighting crime. She gets an opportunity to do so in suspiciously short order, saving a brand-new monorail from total disaster, which introduces her to a new villain, the Screenslaver, who says we’re all spending too much time looking at our phones (duh) so he’s going to cause chaos to wake us all up (good luck with that).

* I kept trying to figure out what the pun in his name might be, since its sounds like “winst endeavor” every time anyone says it. Google tells me “winst” is the Dutch word for profit, but of course it’s pronounced “vinst,” and that’s a long way to go for a pun anyway.

Meanwhile, on the home front, Mr. Incredible learns that parenting is hard. Some of the jokes are a little too familiar – yes, I’ve been through the new math versus old math thing, and still think the way my daughter’s school teaches long division is dumb – but most are at least funny, notably the sight gags. But it’s Jack-Jack who steals pretty much every scene he’s in. His numerous superpowers, a few of which were previewed in his fight against Syndrome (who, fortunately, does not magically re-appear in this film) at the end of the first movie, are pretty funny on their own. He also ends up in a fight scene with a tenacious raccoon that is by far the movie’s best sequence, busting out all of his powers and flabbergasting his sleep-deprived father – who, of course, decides not to tell Elastigirl about any of this while she’s out saving the world and trying to convince the public to make supers legal again.

The problem with Incredibles 2, other than the lack of newness – there are some new supers but they’re not that interesting, except maybe Void (Sophia Bush), who needed more to do – is that the villain is meh. You’ll probably figure out who it is fairly quickly, and then you’ll spend the rest of the film trying to figure out the villain’s motivation, which is not terribly convincing, and certainly doesn’t do enough to justify the plan to make supers illegal on a permanent basis. The exposition required to get to that point gives the film its one slow-down moment, and it’s not sufficiently credible to explain everything that the villain has done or is about to do.

The resolution, however, is a blast, literally and figuratively, with Jack-Jack again playing a critical role, as he and the family make use of his powers and his growing ability to control them. Brad Bird, the director and writer of both Incredibles movies, reprises his role as E in another fantastic sequence where she bonds with Jack-Jack (and, of course, makes him a new superhero costume). Even the ending leaves it open so that if they do decide to make this a trilogy, Bird can write the script right from the moment where the family takes off to go stop another crime. It’s very good, almost as good as the first one, but it could have been tighter.

The Pixar short film that airs before this – after the seven trailers, one of which was for Christopher Robin and five of which were for movies you couldn’t pay me to see – was Bao, a twisted, funny, and very sweet story about being a parent and letting go. The first ever Pixar short directed by a woman, Bao gives us a wife who makes exquisite xiao long baozi, the steamed dumplings that look a bit like a Hershey’s kiss in its wrapper – or, as it turns out, a lot like a little head, as one day the woman starts to bite into one of her dumplings only to have it cry out like a baby, sprout arms and legs, and then grow like a child. Eventually, the little bao starts to grow up and become a teenager and then a young adult who brings home a fiancée – blonde, and definitely not Asian – which really pushes mom over the edge. There’s one slightly demented scene in the short, which I thought was hilarious, but the end will have almost any parent in the audience tearing up. I know opinions on Bao are mixed but I think it’s one of their best shorts ever.

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