The Bear In The Big Blue Coat

Year: 2014

Director: Paul King

Cast: Ben Whishaw, Hugh Bonneville, Sally Hawkins

Run Time: 1 hour 35 minutes

MPAA Rating: PG

Back in 2014, when the original Paddington was released, it made hardly a blip on my radar. And why would it? I do have a boyfriend who takes me to a lot of kids movies, but that's because he's an animation buff, so this one didn't weigh heavily on his consciousness either. And the character of Paddington is certainly more of a UK phenomenon. Being American, I'd certainly heard of Paddington, but had no affection for him to match that of, say, Harry Potter, The Little Mermaid, or hell, even Amelia Bedelia (I would watch the crap out of an Amelia Bedelia movie, by the way).

So there are a lot of reasons I never sat down to watch Paddington, and now I know a lot of reasons why that was a terrible decision.

Not that Paddington doesn't also make his fair share of terrible decisions.

To my point, I had no idea that Paddington was an actual talking bear, and not a magical stuffed teddy bear á là Ted. I still don't honestly believe that. Someone report back to me and let me know. Anyway,  Paddington (Ben Whishaw) is a talking bear from Darkest Peru who has come to England after the death of his Uncle Pastuzo (Michael Gambon) and the retirement of his Aunt Lucy (Imelda Staunton). These bears were taught about the English language and customs by the explorer Montgomery Clyde (Tim Downie), who promised that the bears would always be welcome in his native land.

Now, many years later, Paddington finds that London is not the glittering gem of hospitality he was promised. The city is a cold, unforgiving place (as Babe could have told him), and it's going to be harder to find a family to take him in than he thought. Fortunately, he catches the eye of artist and author Mary Brown (Sally Hawkins), who allows him to spend the night with her family; protective fuddy-duddy husband Henry (Hugh Bonneville), hormonal tween daughter Judy (Madeleine Harris), and inventive young son Jonathan (Samuel Joslin), and matronly aunt Mrs. Bird (Julie Walters). Thus begins a sweet fish out of water comedy, where Paddington's misunderstanding of English culture, penchant for clumsiness, and absurd love of marmalade get him into quite a few scrapes, but eventually allow him to wiggle his way into the hearts of everyone in town.

That is, except for Natural History Museum taxidermist Millicent (Nicole Kidman), who enlists their anti-bear neighbor Mr. Curry (Peter Capaldi) to help her capture Paddington, who she desparately wants to add to her collection.

She also seems to have acquired her hairstyle from a taxidermied meerkat.

Paddington is no ordinary children's film. Or rather, it is an ordinary children's film, just done extraordinarily well. There's not a single ingredient here that feels unfamiliar, and yet fresh life is breathed into a collection of well-worn tropes by a cast and crew that is utterly, wonderfully committed to making the movie the best possible version of itself it can be. 

The whole thing is just so earnest, in a way that only the British can be. Every character is quirky and fun in quiet, charming little ways (even two background characters - security guards who exist only to be knocked out by the villainess - have a fun little moment where they're playing a game involving guessing the amounts of certain nutrients in a little package of biscuits), and they play off the idea of a talking bear as if it's the most normal thing in the world. Everything in the universe of Paddington is just a little bit off-kilter, which helps to ground the fact that our protagonist is an anthropomorphic CGI cartoon.

And even though everything is twee and fluffy in the best possible way, Paddington - like all great children's films - has a thick vein of darkness running its way through the proceedings to take the edge off the sweetness. This is a movie that literally begins with a young bear's uncle dying in an earhquake, for one thing, but it's also at its core a Pig in the City-esque tale of an innocent trying to make his way through a cold, unforgiving metropolis. Does he teach people how to open their hearts and make their life's better through his unwavering optimism? Of course he ding-dang does! But on his way to that, he hears the tale of a Holocaust survivor and lives out an immigrant nightmare in an immediately pre-Brexit London.

Damn bears coming in here, stealing hats and marmalade from hard-working Brits.

Kidding aside, Paddington is literally a story about immigration and racism, any way you slice it. The fact that it has a brain in its head only makes it more delicious, especially because it deals with these topics on a  level any kid could understand, and as gently as possible. It encourages people to love one another in spite of their differences, and it's hard to argue with that message.

But oh, how could we have gotten so far without discussing the visual style? Paddington is a candy-colored delight, full of little details and fillips that turn the live action frame into a page ripped from a fantasy storybook. From the gloriously busy design of the pneumatic delivery tubes in a huge hall of exploration archives to the deliciously grim cutaway to an imaginary orphanage, the production design is top notch. Every surface is dripping with bold primary colors and lit with the warm glow of a long-remembered childhood dream.

Everything onscreen is perfectly precise, and yet feels homespun and inviting, like if Wes Anderson decorated a playroom. And of any movie this century, Paddington probably has the most facility with actually conveying emotion through imagery rather than dialogue. In one particularly low moment, a mural of a tree in the Browns' house has all its petals blown off, which is spectacular, but the film is full of these little moments. Everything is packed with creativity and wonder, even in little visual gags like the backs of all of Nicole Kidman's mounted, stuffed heads on the wall. I don't rightly know where director Paul King (who has mostly labored in TV comedy up to this point) got all this from, but he needs to direct every kids' movie from now on.

If this movie was a flavor of hard candy, I'd keep a dozen of them in my bag at all times.

Of course, this world would be nothing without the humans populating it, and they're all incredibly well-suited to the job. The whole Brown family is a satisfying bundle of quirks and clipped Britishisms wrapped around stock character archetypes, but the obvious standout here, other than Ben Whishaw - who maintains a sense of wide-eyed wonder without becoming grating - is by far Nicole Kidman. Her performance is incredibly sharp, all tiny little mincing movements designed to make as much impact as possible with ruthless efficiency. She's an incredibly retrained, genuinely scary presence that generates a significant amount of tension all while indulging in constant moments of laugh-out-loud absurdity.

So, there you go. Don't judge a book by its cover, I guess. Or don't judge a movie by the cover of the book it's based on. Paddington has no right to be as thoroughly delightful as it is, but when it comes down to it, it's an actual cinema masterpiece that works on every single level it's asked to work on, as well as a couple dozen more it tacks on just for fun.

TL;DR: Paddington is a downright delightful children's movie, and I'm so glad we have the capacity to make something like it in this cold modern world.

Rating: 9/10

Word Count: 1301
Reviews In This Series
Paddington (King, 2014)
Paddington 2 (King, 2018)

Light Of My Life

Year: 2001

Director: Alejandro Amenábar

Cast: Nicole Kidman, Christopher Eccleston, Fionnula Flanagan

Run Time: 1 hour 44 minutes

MPAA Rating: PG-13

The next installment in my "spend October watching horror movies I haven't actually seen" marathon is a film which I really should have caught up with long before now, 2001's The Others. As a big fan of The Sixth Sense it doesn't make sense (Is that a pun? I'll take it) why I've skimped out on this dark domestic ghost story for so long, but at long last that oversight has been rectified.

I've shone a light on it, so to speak.

Now make one thing clear up front. This is an artsy horror film with a foreign director starring Nicole Kidman acting her ass off in an ornate house. Much like last year's Stoker, this is not going to be first pick for your slumber party. Though it is a terrific piece of cinema, The Others is not keyed to the Halloween crowd looking for thrills and spills, instead focusing almost entirely on the drama of one woman who stands helpless as her rigidly structured life begins to fall apart during a ghostly visitation.

That one woman is Grace Stewart (Nicole Kidman), a lonely mother occupying a handsome manor on the island of Jersey in the UK. Her husband (Christopher Eccleston) is off to war and her sickly children - Anne (Alakina Mann) and her younger brother Nicholas (James Bentley) - are her first priority. They are photosensitive, reacting with extreme pain to any strong light, necessitating the use of thick curtains over every window of the house.

In this self-imposed darkness, Grace rules with an iron fist, teaching her children stories from the Bible and managing the minutiae of their lives. When a trio of new servants arrives, led by the gregarious Bertha Mills (Fionnula Flanagan), Grace is grateful for the help, but when strange happenings (doors and curtains opening and closing by themselves, mysterious whispers) begin endangering the lives of her children, she grows suspicious of the peculiar strangers living in her house.

Who would want those curtains open anyway? It's a regular paradise in here.

As the visitations grow more and more intense, everything Grace so fervently believes is challenged, leading to a breakdown of Britney Spearsian proportions. As is so often the case, Kidman tears out the rafters with her performance, magnetizing what could have been a routine, dull story with strongly grounded in physical emotion. Grace's stubbornness prevents her from expressing emotion so her body does it for her, providing a range of subtle touches that guide the audience along on her journey.

The rest of the cast does a fine job (though Bentley is markedly superior to Mann, an impressive accomplishment at his age - and holy crap I think we might be the same age, I should step up my game), but Kidman is the ringmaster here, and the film rises and falls with her and her alone.

With the acting pretty much handled, Amenábar was free to explore other channels of expressing the film's mood, like his impressively slick control of the cinematography. Inside this stern, structured house, the camera moves with slinking fluidity using long, deliberate takes separated by doleful fades that really emphasize the plodding familiarity and slowness that permeates everyday life for the Stewart family.

As big a fan of homework as I am, it's not quite a quick-cut MTV affair.

For obvious reasons, light is very important to this film. Amenábar and cinematographer Javier Aguirresarobe harness every dollop of strength within them to rigidly structure the world's most permeable element into a tapestry of emotion and clarity like never before. They don't necessarily challenge the world and conventions of film lighting, but their precision in how they achieve their desired effect is almost unparalleled.

The camera, light, and exquisite sound design (always a must in any horror film) all reflect upon one thing - Grace's worldview. And it makes it that much more effective when her perceptions begin to change. I shan't say a word about the ending here, save to mention that [while it should feel like an exact replica of The Sixth Sense, it absolutely does not - thanks to the skillful craftsmanship of character and style that set the film in a wildly different thematic universe. Not a small accomplishment for what, under unskilled hands, could feel like a remarkably unabashed rip-off.]

It's true that the film could be scarier. It could be quicker paced and include more business with the "intruders." But that's not what The Others wants to be. It's a period drama with horror trappings, digging into the psyche of a deeply troubled woman and toying with her rigid perspective on the world. If that's not what you're looking for this Halloween, I don't blame you. But once Oscar season rolls around and you're ready for a heady dose of horror, don't look any further than this skillful flick.

TL;DR: The Others is more dramatic than scary, but provides a terrific watch with masterful cinematography and a gung ho performance from Nicole Kidman.

Rating: 8/10

Word Count: 852

A Day Late, An Hour Short

Year: 2002

Director: Stephen Daldry

Cast: Meryl Streep, Julianne Moore, Nicole Kidman
Run Time: 1 hour 54 minutes

MPAA Rating: PG-13

Everybody remember Sergio? He wrote this article last week about films that (bar a couple) I basically never would have seen or reviewed if not for his considerable influence over my free time. Although he neglected to mention The Hours (presumably to maintain a low Meryl Streep count and avoid tipping the scales), this is the film he chose for his most recent entry in my dramatic cinema education.

But for all the good and interesting things contained in The Hours, it also represents a lot of the elements of the genre that make it so hard for me to access. It is abstract to a fault and it ushers powerful moments across the screen to provoke a response, but never actually imbues them with power in a cinematic context. Save for one moment, the film is more or less as effective as cinema as Stephen Daldry actually reading the bestselling novel upon which the movie is based out loud.

The performances are great, the writing is effective, but the staging is wan. Stephen Daldry simply isn't a director. Over his 16-year career he has directed but four feature films, lately having dedicated himself to producing Paralympic telecasts. This is an actors' movie for sure, perhaps even an editors' movie. But the lack of a keen directorial presence prevents the film from fully blossoming into an audience's movie.

If you like the story, it'll keep you occupied. But the transition from page to screen is simple and without affect.

Much like this functional scarf/sweater combination.

The Hours tells the story of three women separated by time but linked by a single work of literature. Virginia Woolf (an unrecognizable Nicole Kidman in a prosthetic nose) writes her novel in 1923 Richmond, England. In 1951 LA, Laura Brown (Julianne Moore), a milquetoast housewife, struggles with her place in the world while reading the novel. And in 2001 New York City, Clarissa Vaughan (Meryl Streep) plans a party for her longtime friend Richard (Ed Harris), an AIDS-suffering poet who has long drawn comparisons between Miss Vaughan and the title character of the novel.

In each timeline, the film explores the events of one single day and how that day shaped the lives and outlooks of these three women, as viewed through the filter of the story of Mrs. Dalloway. I would highly suggest reading this novel before viewing the movie, as I'm certain it enhances the experience. Unfortunately I did not, providing yet another disconnect between myself and the screen. The novel is explained somewhat in the context of the film, but it does not actively reach out to guide viewers in the right direction.

This can unfortunately make the film seem a bit chilly at times, especially in the Virginia Woolf segments, none of which would be entirely compelling without the saving grace of Kidman's sharp-edged performance.

Some edges are sharper than others.

Luckily the film is provided three incredibly talented actresses (Ed Harris is also terrific, though he is neither an actress nor a frequently seen character). Meryl Streep delivers a breathtaking scene in what only amounts to be the middle of her character arc, paving the way for even more terrific character development. Julianne Moore is the least riveting of the three, but this is by choice, considering the inherent weakness of her character's resolve. As the film continues on, her performance gains more and more traction.

The Hours should thank its lucky stars for these indelible performances, because without them the film would have sank like a stone in the luggage racks of the Titanic. What it does receive, thanks to multilayered characters that act outside of the confines of the dialogue itself, is a sense of gravity. The themes present in each of the separate storylines get pulled into orbit around these three women and form a cohesive whole.

(That was a darn layered gravity pun right there. Stop for a minute and appreciate that.)

There's also some highly interesting lesbian subplots that don't quite coalesce into a coherent thread, but maintain a sense of oneness among the characters and provide a delightful entry point for LGBT analysis that very few drama films can claim.

So while depression dramas can't typically be described as anything other than depressing, The Hours can thank its lead actresses for being capable of ultimately leaving the audience with feelings of fulfillment. It would have been a lot better in the hands of a man or a woman who knew how to visually tell a story beyond just pointing a camera at people saying stuff, but it's an all-the-more compelling platform for a trio of magnetic performances.

TL;DR: The Hours isn't a cinematic masterpiece, but the acting talent pulls it all together.

Rating: 6/10

Word Count: 815

Though This Be Madness, Yet There Is Method In't

Year: 2013

Director: Chan-wook Park

Cast: Mia Wasikowska, Nicole Kidman, Matthew Goode

Run Time: 1 hour 39 minutes

MPAA Rating: R

"To become adult is to become free."

So begins Stoker, the first English language film from acclaimed South Korean director Chan-wook Park. What follows is a winding tale of intrigue, lust, murder, lust, betrayal, and lust set to the tune of the coming of age of India Stoker (Mia Wasikowska), a girl who can hear and see things beyond the abilities of your feeble eyes and ears.

On her 18th birthday, India's life is turned upside down when her father dies in a mysterious accident and her Uncle Charlie (Matthew Goode), a man she never even knew existed has come to stay with her and her mother (Nicole Kidman). Mrs. Stoker doesn't seem to be too cut up about her husband's death, not with his sibling around to comfort her.

What a sweet body - I mean - brother.

The Hamlet parallels don't stop there as the film dives more or less immediately into more incestuous undertones than your average episode of Arrested Development. As India begins to suspect foul play, Charlie's attentions turn to her and their two journeys intertwine in a symphony of violence and sensuality, beginning with the porniest piano duet in human history.

And possibly monkey history.

For you see, Charlie isn't your typical uncle. If somebody threaten's India's well-being, they're not going to be well for much longer. 

There's also a lot of business with India dealing with teenage hoodlums at her high school and investigating family secrets, but Stoker is a film that's much more impressed with its atmosphere than the story it's telling, something that it and I have in common. A modern thriller mystery incest romance dressed up in Victorian trappings, Stoker is one of the (if not the) most aesthetically complex films of 2013.

This is one of those films that allows me to use terms like symbolism and mise-en-scène without a trace of irony, for every single element of the film works together to create a beautiful and singularly creepy world. 

The camera dances an intricate ballet of light and shadow one image fading into the next with grace, the infinitely complex sound design explores the world of a girl who can hear even the tiniest crack of an egg, the editing joins the game to provide a pulsing, freewheeling rhythm, and the art design reigns supreme, full of rich, dark colors, and symbols out the wazoo that are there in spades for those who wish to analyze them but aren't so obvious as to be distracting.

You see shears, I see a phallus. The life of a film major.

Phallic and Yonic imagery abound throughout, capturing the central theme of burgeoning sexuality and coming of age and compounding it with the darker tang of bodily violence.

You thought slasher movies had the monopoly on "sex = death" philosophy? You're dead wrong. Stoker has sharp penetrative weapons, rhythmic pounding violence, unbelting preceding murder, womb  imagery to represent rebirth, and a bloody act that marks India's emergence into womanhood (a metaphor for getting her period).

Womb.

Vagina.

Penis.

Sex.

I think I'm getting my point across.

It's quite a shame the plot isn't really that great.

Because that's what we're here for, isn't it?

The film drags for quite a bit in its middle half and never really achieves a sense of closure, largely because it never felt like it ever truly opened in the first place. The film is so enchanted by its own decadence that it falls prey to the arthouse mentality of presenting a film as a sequence of beautiful paintings rather than a coherent story.

It's no surprise Stoker alienated audiences and failed to be the smash hit it so easily could have been if the dialogue or events matched the intelligence and fervor of the film's more artistic elements. This disparity largely seems to be due to the veteran film director Chan-wook Park bringing his masterful film aesthetic to the rather green and clumsy first screenplay of Prison Break's Wentworth Miller.

Stoker is a visual treat for the critics and the filmmakers, but a drowsy bore for the rest.

Oh well.

You win some, you lose some.

You spin around on some.

Also, a shout-out for Sergio for correctly identifying a hunting cooler. He rocks.

TL;DR: Stoker has a stunningly beautiful aesthetic in service of a bum narrative with just enough intrigue to keep the film afloat.

Rating: 6/10

Word Count: 756