animated


perfect-blue

Finally, an update! Sorry for the wait, I’m back watching movies again!

Fandom, obsession, change, and psychological issues are explored in Satoshi Kon’s brilliant 1997 film Perfect Blue. Kon is quickly becoming one of my favourite filmmakers and is certainly making a name for himself in the anime genre, weaving intelligent tales that blur the lines between fantasy and reality without coming across as pretentious or patronizing. Perfect Blue has all the makings of a Hitchcockian thriller and features tremendous animation, excellent pacing, and some truly nerve-wracking sequences.

Essentially Kon has crafted a psychological thriller that is ahead of its time, especially in a Western sense. We meet Mima, our heroine, as she is leaving the pop group CHAM! after a successful career. Mima wants to be an actress and this news does not sit well with her countless fans. Her first job is in a drama series. Mima begins as a sort of background actress, but quickly becomes a major character after a pivotal rape scene grants her a larger part and subsequently undoes her pop princess image. Sound eerily familiar?

Mima learns of a website online called “Mima’s Room” on which somebody impersonates her and describes her feelings, daily activities, and other personal information. The person behind the website begins to plant the idea that Mima is unhappy with her new career choice and decides that Mima is actually an imposter. A run of grisly murders begin to take place and the targets are involved with the drama series’ rape scene. As Mima becomes confused with her new role, her fixated fans, and a strange stalker named Me-Mania, her grasp on reality fades.

Perfect Blue presents a surprising account of fandom and the idea that fans of a particular performer hold a personal stake in his or her actions. This notion was a surprising thought in the late 90s, when the internet wasn’t so trite and the initiative of celebrity didn’t seem to be at such a fever pitch. In today’s world of reality shows and the New American Dream seeming to be a raw lust for fame of any kind, Kon’s motion picture has audacious and terrifying new weight.

Take for instance the alarming sense of betrayal that the fans of Mima feel when she takes a different route with her career. I have seen countless message board posts and pieces of fan mail from crazed individuals obsessed with keeping stars and famous people as they are. One slight change, such as the decision by Avril Lavigne to adopt a slightly sexier way of presenting herself, and the shit can truly hit the fan. Ask Anne Hathaway about the backlash for doing Havoc after a series of “princess” pictures.

Kon’s exploration of the concept of fame is remarkable, as he is pitch-perfect in presenting his scenes and unfolding the drama. The story is startling enough as an account of fans, stalkers, and Mima’s struggle with a new career direction. But on top of this, Kon adds another layer and has Mima questioning reality. She is shattered from the rape scene, yet feels a need to take this new direction. One thing leads to another and Mima is taking nude photographs and presenting an even sexier representation of herself.

Kon explores her mystification and anxiety with lucidity, offering marvellous depth to the character while still keeping the other plot arcs moving. He does an awful lot within the film’s 80 minutes, creating more raw emotion and frightening sequences out of animation than many current directors could hope for out of “real actors.” As such, Satoshi Kon’s Perfect Blue is an absolutely stunning psychological thriller. Its exploration of fans, stardom, celebrity obsession, and culture is incredibly pressing and fascinatingly pertinent.

8.7/10

Trailer (Japanese, sorry):

persepolis-poster-1

To say Marjane Satrapi led an interesting life is an understatement. Born in Iran in 1969, the graphic novelist and filmmaker witnessed the fall of the Shah and the stripping away of civil liberties in her homeland. Marjane’s experiences went into a graphic novel called Persepolis and that graphic novel was made into a 2007 animated feature directed by Satrapi and French comic artist Vincent Paronnaud.

In many ways, Persepolis is merely a coming-of-age story set to the backdrop of the Iranian Revolution. The film, which won the 2007 Jury Prize at Cannes, follows Marjane through her life using elegant animation in both black and white and colour. We begin with Marjane in the airport smoking. She begins to think back to her life in Iran in 1979 and we follow her thoughts back to where she was born. As a young girl, Marji had dreams of becoming a prophet. She loved Bruce Lee. As an adult, her idealism has drained out.

The film uses Marjane’s memories and black and white animation to highlight the historical context behind the young girl’s experiences. We learn of the uprising against the Shah, the hopes of the Iranians for a more just society, the unity of family in tough times, and the crushing reality of war. Throughout it all, Marji has a more urgent task. She is precocious, listens to Iron Maiden, and later heads to school in Austria to “grow up.”

The animation style of Persepolis is similar to that of the graphic novels. The simple black and white shimmers with remarkable detail. The style attempts to fit Marjane’s massive story into a 98-minute frame and succeeds wonderfully. This is an animated film for adults, one that is dazzling to look at and loaded with context and information to ponder.

In many ways, Persepolis is an ultimately refreshing coming-of-age tale in a decade loaded with them. Here we have a young woman with purpose and with legitimate trials to overcome. And she does overcome, marvellously and elegantly in her own way. She offers hope when there is little and keeps her wits about her as long as she can. But the crush of things and the weight of life eventually wear Marjane down and Persepolis allows us to experience that, too. We break when she does.

For the sake of this review, I watched the English dubbed version of the movie. The vocal talents were tremendous, with Chiara Mastroianni voicing teenage and adult Marjane in both the French and English versions. Catherine Deneuve is Marji’s mother in both versions, while Sean Penn voices the father in the English version. The father in the French version is voiced by the one and only Simon Abkarian. Also featured in the English version is Iggy Pop as Uncle Anouche.

Persepolis is a special motion picture. Painstakingly animated and brimming with vibrancy, this film yearns to be seen. Show it to your children, if you have any, and explain it to them tolerantly. They (and you) will learn about life from another point of view and about growing up as a human being in a world that is often uncertain, upsetting, and unsafe. They’ll also learn that it’s okay to hope, laugh, play, and listen to Iron Maiden at full volume.

9.3/10

French Trailer:

grave-of-the-fireflies

One of the most poignant and distressing animated features ever made, 1988’s Grave of the Fireflies is a powerful film about the human condition, youth, death, and war. Directed and written by Isao Takahata, colleague of Hayao Miyazaki, this movie is an adaptation of a semi-autobiographical novel of the same name written by Akiyuki Nosaka. The novel was written in part as a form of confession and apology to the author’s sister, as she perished due to malnutrition in Japan in 1945.

Takahata’s Grave of the Fireflies does not manipulate or take easy roads to sentimentality. It stands, instead, as one of the most astonishingly human animated films ever made. The tragedy and the sadness arrive naturally, guided by the subtle hand of Takahata and the spectacular animation that is synonymous with Studio Ghibli. Interestingly, the original Japanese theatrical release of the picture was accompanied by Miyazaki’s My Neighbor TotoroGrave of the Fireflies is also the only Studio Ghibli film that the Walt Disney Company does not have distribution rights for.

The movie takes place during the end of World War II in Japan and we know how it ends before it begins. We are introduced to two children living in the port city of Kobe: a young teenage boy named Seita and his sister, likely about five years old, named Setsuko. Their father serves in the Japanese Navy and their mother has fallen victim to the horrors of war. As we are introduced to these characters, their entire world is vanishing. American bombers drop canisters of napalm on the feeble wood and paper houses of Japanese cities and the residents have no resort but to flee. There is no way to fight the fires, no way to resist the ruin.

Seita and Setsuko are taken in by an aunt, but the relationship is strained as she begins to begrudge the two children. She resents having to feed them and look after them, so eventually the pair departs to a cave where they believe they can live. Seita attempts to take care of his sister, all the while trying to come to terms with the war and with the fate of their parents. As unalterable tragedy draws ever near, we see the war, the bombings and the horror from the eyes of these two children.

Grave of the Fireflies is a kind of poetry; it is a piece of art. Takahata’s film tells a relatively plain story of survival on its face, yet beneath the surface are heart-rending moments of nature, humanity, and love. The fireflies, for instance, create a sense of profundity and sentiment. As fireflies have particularly short life-spans, their continuation sorrowfully parallels the existence of these children of war. There is impermanence and nothing is everlasting. Regardless of the loveliness of things, life and death eventually has its way.

Despite this briefness of life, Takahata ensures that we remember the bright colours and the mirth. Take, for instance, the film’s closing sequences. Sure to bring a well of unmanageable tears, we are shown scenes of play and elation with Setsuko. She frolics, conceivably unaware of the horror, lunacy, and hopelessness with which she lives. One wonders if children are oblivious to war and violence or if they have, on some level anyway, a sense of understanding.

The animation is beautiful and affectionate. Takahata knows how to hold shots and elongate sequences so that we can value them. His colours are strong but not overwhelming, and the details are unbelievable. He directs with a clear-cut style, leaving the melodrama to the soap operas and granting his audience the one thing they need to digest the poignancy and gravity of this tale: time.

For those new to anime, Grave of the Fireflies is perhaps the one film that will change the way “cartoons” are looked at. It is as potent an effort as Schindler’s List and contains scenes of such colossal sadness and anguish that a box of tissues ought to come with the picture. This is a truly special film, marking a cinematic milestone in which minimalism triumphs over loud effects and a truly extraordinary human story is told with the power of animation.

9.7/10

Trailer:

porco-rosso

Porco Rosso is a unique film in the canon of genius animator Hayao Miyazaki. The historical and geographical context of the movie is specific; there is no fantasy world or alternate universe in which the characters operate. Indeed, most of the story could have occurred in reality and within the context. The only element to the story that stretches our perceptions of reality, ever so slightly, is the titular character.

The story takes place during the 1920s between the two World Wars. The setting is Italy and fascism is rising. Blackshirts are everywhere and the “firm answer” of the fascist regime to the political turmoil in post-war Italy lays the backdrop to the picture. In many respects, Porco Rosso is Miyazaki’s most “adult” picture. It is entrenched with politics and world affairs, generating many of its more obvious plot points from the rejection of fascism.

We meet Porco Rosso, a man with the head of a pig, as he works as a bounty hunter guarding ships in the Adriatic Sea. He frequently combats pirates and defends other ships, yet there is a sense of camaraderie between the pirates and Porco. He is a legend in the area and has earned the respect of mostly everyone he comes into contact with. We are not told specifically how Porco wound up in the condition we find him in, although Miyazaki does include some hints that he became a pig after he left the Italian Air Force.

The film revolves around Porco’s relationship with Gina, a woman who runs Hotel Adriano in the Adriatic Sea, and his rivalry with American pilot Curtis. Curtis is attempting to gain employment with a gang of pirates and decides to directly challenge Porco as a way to boost his profile. When Porco heads to Milan to rebuild his plane, he comes into contact with young Fio and a group of fascists who smell bacon. Luckily, Porco has friends in the Italian Air Force who keep him ahead of the blackshirts and he is able to head back and properly challenge Curtis with a rebuilt plane (courtesy of Fio) and renewed energy.

The animation is typical Miyazaki, brimming with color, quality, and unbelievable detail. Miyazaki’s meticulousness is renowned and Porco Rosso is a marvelous example of this. His attention to detail is impeccable, especially in his presentation of Italy and the historical elements as they fit the context of the piece.

As Miyazaki’s sixth animated picture, this 1992 film demonstrates the director’s growth as an artist. It is often thought that Porco Rosso is his most personal work and that the character of Porco is loosely based on himself. Flight is a common theme in the films of Hayao Miyazaki, with Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind featuring airborne armies and the title character’s glider and Kiki from Kiki’s Delivery Service flying around on her broomstick. There is a sense here that flight represents a form of ultimate freedom, as though Porco only feels safe and, perhaps, human in the skies.

The core of the film for some may well be Porco’s conflict with Curtis. It ends in a bruising fist-fight, the two characters throwing ideological punch after punch at one another. But for me, the core of Porco Rosso lies in Porco’s denunciation of everything that holds him down. He has literally been stripped of his humanity through circumstances we don’t understand. He may turn human again and he may not. For the time being, Porco finds his ultimate autonomy in the skies and in the dismissal of all that anchors him.

He is Bogart-cool, always on the move, always smoking, always prepared.

Miyazaki’s Porco Rosso is a delightfully animated, tenderly constructed, and magnificently frank piece of art. It is certainly his most adult work and little besides the protagonist’s facade seems launched towards younger viewers. A delicate masterpiece, Porco Rosso stands as one of Hayao Miyazaki’s most significant movies and as one of the most enjoyable, affecting animated films of all time. 

9.8/10

Trailer:

ratatouille

The idea of animation in America changed when Pixar stepped on the scene and combined with Disney to make 1995’s Toy Story. Computer animation had been done before, sure, but perhaps never to the colourful scope and brilliant scale of the John Lasseter-directed picture. Fast-forward to 2007 and Pixar unleashed its eighth film, the vivacious and heart-warming Ratatouille. Directed by the incomparable Brad Bird, who also brought us the oft-overlooked The Iron Giant in 1999, Ratatouille may well be the best film of 2007.

With Ratatouille, one cannot help but drink in the vibrancy, the colour, and the beautiful storytelling that Bird has elected to serve us. It is as gracious and energetic a meal as ever concocted, with spices and flavours piquing all of the right corners of any cinephile’s palette. The concept is bizarre: rats working in a kitchen in France, of all places. Yet it works and it works with such tenderness and such comedy that it may well go down as one of the richest comedic treats of the decade.

We meet Remy (voiced by Patton Oswalt) and find that he is a rat with aspirations and with a very special gift. He can smell and taste with such keenness that he is soon depended on by his family to sniff out rat poison. Remy lives in the attic of a French country home with his brother Emile (voiced by Peter Sohn) and his father Django (voiced by Brian Dennehy). Remy’s father wants the rats to stay in the colony in the French attic, but an incident which sprouts from Remy’s culinary curiosity soon forces the family apart.

Remy ends up in Paris and finds himself right at the foot of Gusteau’s restaurant. Gusteau, now deceased, was one of France’s finest chefs. His restaurant, now down to three stars thanks to critic Anton Ego (voiced by Peter O’Toole), has long been a dream locale for Remy. And in an act of providence, Remy finds himself amongst the chefs. He encounters a clumsy garbage boy, Alfredo Linguini (voiced by Lou Romano), and ends up hiding under his toque blanche to cook in Gusteau’s kitchen. The food becomes legendary and Linguini must try to keep up appearances while his popularity rises. It is Remy, of course, who does the actual cooking.

Bird’s film is incredibly animated. The details of each character are delightful, with the fur of the animals and the expressions on the faces of the characters among the best in animation history. It is a beautifully animated film, with food that looks so delicious that I wanted to pluck it right from the screen. Apparently the animators attended cooking classes in order to get a sense for presentation and how things should look.

The character of Remy is fascinating. Here is a rat, yet he is drawn and constructed with modesty, consideration, and thoughtfulness. Remy produces more sentiment from a raised hand or a look than many animated characters would construct out of a whole monologue. The character design is fascinating as well, with the human characters looking exaggerated but never ridiculous.

As we know, Bird’s picture won the Academy Award for Best Animated Feature. It couldn’t have been more deserving and its success and beauty as a film really continues the idea that Pixar is doing some truly special work. With this year’s incredible WALL-E, the computer animation company is becoming a force to be reckoned with not merely in animation but in filmmaking period. Ratatouille is a classic. It is a wonderfully-textured, impeccably-drawn piece of ART that deserves time, attention, and many repeat servings.

9.6/10

Trailer:

Hayao Miyazaki is one of the masters of film, without question. His storytelling contains such vibrancy, such energy, such life. And his attention to detail is second to none, with exciting characters filled with colours and layers. Miyazaki became known in the West with the release of Princess Mononoke by Miramax. Spirited Away soon followed, scooping an Academy Award. My Neighbor Totoro had its original release in the United States on VHS under the name My Friend Totoro. In 2006, Disney re-released the film with an all new dub cast and a beautiful remastering. For the purposes of this review, I took a look at the Disney re-release.

One of the most striking things about this 1988 Miyazaki film is its beautiful animation and tender characters. Unlike many North American animation films, there is no villain or evil character to throw a monkeywrench in the plans of the good character. There are no fight scenes, no bad parents, no frightening monsters, no standard trappings. Instead, My Neighbor Totoro is a film that exists on a different version of our planet. It exists, perhaps, in the world as we would like it.

The visual enchantment of Miyazaki’s film goes without saying. He utilizes watercolours to fill the screen, engaging the viewer in his lovingly crafted visions without forcing a splashy or obnoxious set of sequences or characters. Instead, My Neighbor Totoro is remarkable in its gentleness of spirit and in its ease of motion.

The film tells the story of two sisters, Satsuki and Mei. In the new Disney dub, the two girls are voiced eloquently and sweetly by Dakota and Elle Fanning. Their dynamic is perfect. The sisters have moved into a house with their father and discover that the home is inhabited by tiny soot sprites, magical little creatures that are only seen when moving out of the light into dark places. The girls become comfortable in the new house with their father and, as a result, the soot sprites leave.

One day, Mei decides she is going to “run some errands.” The younger of the two sisters, she takes off to play in the forest. She follows her instincts (and some magical creatures) to the hollow of a large tree and finds a large creature sleeping. Unfazed, Mei crawls atop the creature and discovers that it is “Totoro.” With the mother of the two girls sick, Totoro becomes the embodiment of her presence and provides an escape.

My Neighbor Totoro is about fantasy, wonder, nature, and beauty. The girls experience Totoro as a gentle creature because it is one. There is nobody for Totoro to fight, no clash of the anime titans to engage in, and no moments of sensationalistic trash to provide distraction. Instead, Miyazaki has created a tender creature who allows the children an opportunity to deal with the illness of their mother and gather strength. It is magical.

It is compelling to note the differences between American and Japanese animation and, indeed, American and Japanese storytelling. My Neighbor Totoro never once degrades itself into the clichés. It never forces itself into corners, instead choosing fluid movements. Sequences expose this fluidity. Think, for instance, of the idea of gender. Here is a film inhabited by two girls, not one boy and a girl. And the father is a gentle, kind man…not an ogre or an abusive presence to escape. Indeed, every character is heroic.

My Neighbor Totoro is awe-inspiring, beautiful, tender, emotional, enchanting, engaging, compelling, and even a little bit sad. It is another masterpiece from the master, a delicate and elegant film that has rightly become one of the world’s most dearly loved family films. If you have not yet experienced My Neighbor Totoro, gather your children and watch it.

9.4/10

Trailer:

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It’s safe to say that Pixar Animation Studios has hit one out of the park yet again with 2008’s charming and beautiful WALL-E. This is the best film I’ve seen all year. Gorgeously animated with a delightful story, this film’s depiction of a very realistic future and a robot romance had me enthralled from the beginning.

The film takes place 800 years in the future, give or take, as a mega-corporation called Buy ‘n Large has taken over every single economic service on Earth. They even run the government. The planet has been overrun by un-recycled waste and, as such, all of the human beings have taken off into space to live on “Executive Starliners.” These ships house people and supply them with everything to meet their needs, leading to massive tubbiness, laziness, and lack of interest in anything human.

Back on Earth, we meet WALL-E. He’s an acquiescent robot tasked with cleaning up the planet. Unfortunately for WALL-E, he’s the last of his kind and he spends his days wandering around and piling up garbage in neatly organized piles. The Earth is still covered in trash and WALL-E certainly has his work cut out for him. Enter EVE, a feminine robot dropped off on Earth to discover plant life and to head off a return for the human beings to their home planet. WALL-E is instantly besotted with his new arrival.

The rest of the film follows the adventures of WALL-E and EVE as they’re taken back up to the largest Executive Starliner, the Axiom, and try to get things moving on the path back to Earth. Naturally, EVE and WALL-E fall in love. It’s interesting to note that one of the best romantic comedies of the year so far happens to involve robots, very little dialogue, and Pixar’s exquisite computer animation. Go figure, huh?

There is most certainly an agenda to this film. The environmental aspects are hard to ignore, as the planet’s loss of human life is an evocative but all-too-real notion. The way WALL-E is framed in the foreseeable course of our actions is wonderful and it gives the storyline some credence. To further this initiative, humanity’s becoming corpulent and relying utterly on machines in the future is another undeniable point that should be addressed by us now. If we continue to live lives of overindulgence and waste, worlds like those presented in WALL-E may not take 800 years to reach us.

Alongside the heart-rending message of the future of Earth lies a genuinely emotional romance. The relationship between WALL-E and EVE is so affectionate, so sweet, and so endearing that it becomes the hinge by which everything else in the film is moved. The altruism with which the robots act is excellent; we should be so lucky to feel such prevailing love for one another.

I don’t need to tell you that Pixar’s animation is incredible here. The visuals of space, for instance, are simply awe-inspiring. As the ships crash through the hillock of satellites and head through to the unknown stars beyond, I couldn’t help but be overtaken by a sense of wonder only paralleled by the greatest documentary space footage. The animation is so lifelike and so genuine that it’s hard to tell the difference between what’s real and what isn’t. The pudgy animation of the human beings is a nice touch in contrast to the sharper edges of the robot delegation.

There are detractors, to be sure. Most of the opinions referenced against the foundations of this film come with a political bent and that’s a shame. To listen to some jackass like Glenn Beck rail against the film for having an “ecological message” or to read New York Post writer Kyle Smith’s comments that the film “insults obesity” just goes to show how easy it is for conservative dummies to miss the message of a beautiful film.

WALL-E is a delight. It is the year’s first perfect film. Its message about love, understanding, humanity, and compassion shouldn’t be ignored. And its warnings about overdependence on technology and overabundance of waste shouldn’t be either.

9.8/10

Trailer:

Millennium Actress

Satoshi Kon is a truly exceptional talent. His films focus on uniquely human themes, yet often blur the line between fantasy and reality. Kon’s movies have a psychological complexity to them and are intelligent visions of human nature. With Millennium Actress, Satoshi Kon is at his very best. His career only spans four films thus far, but his talents are unquestionable and he stands apart as a true giant in Japanese animation. Kon’s writing is tender and detailed, as he constructs characters that audiences can relate to and places them in situations of extraordinary depth.

Millennium Actress tells a complex story of love, devotion, and the purposes one finds in life. The tale begins with documentary filmmaker Genya Tachibana and his cameraman heading to visit the great Japanese actress Chiyoko Fujiwara. Chiyoko has become a recluse since leaving the film industry 30 years ago. Securing the interview was difficult, but Genya has something special for Chiyoko that she will be most interested in: a key left to her by a lost love. As Genya and his cameraman begin the interview, Chiyoko reminiscences about her life and about her pursuit of love and devotion over the course of several years.

The narrative style takes us through history as we follow Chiyoko through her early years before she became an actress to her final days as she comes to terms with the life she experienced. Kon’s piece weaves the story through portions of Chiyoko’s films and her re-telling of her experiences, often combining reality with the storylines from the movies. Genya and his cameraman tag along through it all, capturing an overview of history through the imaginative storytelling of Chiyoko.

Kon’s film depicts a fair history of Japan, taking us from the Warring States during Japan’s medieval era to the Meiji period during the late 19th century to the post-war period and the Occupation. The “real” portions of the film are interspersed with visions from the films of Chiyoko, making the journey constantly compelling. The imagination of Kon through his visions of these various time periods makes Millennium Actress a truly epic movie.

Unto itself, Kon’s screenplay would have been stunning enough. With the storytelling techniques he employs, however, Millennium Actress becomes absolutely incredible. The actress’s films serve as backdrops for her journey through life to find her lost love, making for some gripping philosophical moments as the actor becomes the characters through various stages of time. Kon chooses to make the Genya and his cameraman part of the memories, too, which adds an extra personal element to the characterizations and helps tie more emotion into the already strong story.

The animation of the film is slick and moving. It is beautifully colourful and some of the scenes are simply immense. Some critics have claimed that the animation is simplistic and less beautiful than a Miyazaki or similar filmmakers’ work. While it’s incredibly difficult to emulate or even come close to producing something along the lines of Miyazaki, Kon’s piece, animated by the legendary Studio Madhouse, is as pure an anime as I’ve seen in quite a long time. The colours flush in and out of the scenes, the segues are tremendous, and the backdrops are absolutely stunning pieces to look at on their own. I found myself pausing the film quite a few times to gather the scope of it all.

Millennium Actress is a wonderful introduction to anime for those viewers that may not be comfortable with some of the more bizarre elements of the genre. It is a tender love story with depth, instantly relatable to anyone that has ever chased a dream. We accompany Chiyoko on her journey and celebrate her idea that the journey itself is incredible. Our heart breaks for her, time and again, and we long for her happiness as we trace the lines of her life. Chiyoko is not merely a two-dimensional cartoon character. She exhibits more life, more emotion, and more poise than several current “real” Hollywood actresses and we feel the depth of her moving journey on a deeply personal level. Kon’s film succeeds because it realizes the desire of the audience for connection and purpose, even in film.

Along with the deeply personal level on which Millennium Actress functions, Kon’s movie passionately gives us a shorthand vision of history through the eyes of Chiyoko. The backdrops, the scenes, and the characters reveal a rich tapestry of history and elegantly place importance on the smaller, subtle moments of Chiyoko’s life. Her career as an actress highlights her life, accenting her personal quest with the gloss of cinema.

As a quality introduction to anime and a wonderful film, Millennium Actress is a highly recommended work of art from one of my favourite anime filmmakers, Satoshi Kon. Along with Tokyo Godfathers, Kon has proven his ability to create uniquely human tales in a genre that often feels inhabited by science fiction stories and unbelievable ideas. Millennium Actress is the perfect starting point for those interested in opening up to the engaging genre of anime.

9/10

Over the Hedge

Over the Hedge is a cute computer-animated film from 2006. Directed by Tim Johnson and Karey Kirkpatrick, the film was based on the syndicated comic strip drawn and written by Michael Fry and T. Lewis. The film was put out by DreamWorks animation and Paramount and drew a solid box office. It also did well in terms of critical acclaim. Packed with cultural references and quick wit, Over the Hedge is a solid computer-animated feature in a genre often packed with half-hearted efforts with minimal credibility.

Over the Hedge, like most computer-animated films, features a host of vocal talents. Bruce Willis stars as RJ the Racoon, a little creature who has found himself in a little predicament. RJ has inadvertently destroyed the goods of bear Vincent (Nick Nolte) and has just a week to replace the damaged goods. RJ happens upon a crew of foraging animals near a giant hedge. He develops a relationship with the foragers and quickly leads them “over the hedge” and into the suburban paradise on the other side. The animals, along with RJ, quickly learn about the strange habits of the human beings on the other side and run from exterminators and soccer moms.

Over the Hedge is a treat because of its humour and because of the plot’s witty ideas. The nature of the urban sprawl is explored, as the wasteful ideas of human beings and mass consumption. Scenes in which RJ describes the habits of human beings and eating are hilarious. The satire and wit are spot-on in Over the Hedge and the vocal talents have enough comedic presence to make the script stick like glue. The characters are entertaining and incredibly well-done, making for a highly entertaining comic ride through the film’s 87 minutes.

Garry Shandling stars as Verne, the tortoise and unofficial leader of the foraging crew. Hammy, the red squirrel and one of my favourite characters, was voiced by Steve Carell. Wanda Sykes voices Stella the Skunk, a skunk with confidence issues and an attitude problem. William Shatner is Ozzie the Opossum and Avril Lavigne is Heather, his daughter opossum. Catherine O’Hara and Eugene Levy play Penny and Lou, the porcupines. Allison Janney is Gladys Sharp, the suburban human terror and Thomas Haden Church is Dwayne, the exterminator. With this rich cast of vocal talents, there is never a dull moment during Over the Hedge.

Over the Hedge is effective mainly because of its comedy and quick wit. It pokes fun at several cultural ideas, including that of the ever-popular SUV. “How many people does it fit?” asks one furry character. “Usually one,” comes the response. Lines like this make the film fresh and amusing without being preachy or cutesy. Over the Hedge successfully walks the tightrope between delivering an annoying message and being tongue in cheek and charismatic. With solid characters, it’s easy to get caught up in the comical adventures and conversations in Over the Hedge.

Over the Hedge isn’t as strong as Shrek (the first film) or Finding Nemo, but it is a strong animated feature with a lot of laughs. The action sequences are fun and quick, creating a lot of chaos in very little space with the quick-witted gags flowing like water. The setups and comedic timing in the film are great, too, providing tons of fun for all ages. Adults watching the film with kids will likely have a good time and the kids will love the characters, especially Hammy. There’s a lot to see and experience with Over the Hedge and it is quality entertainment for the whole family.

The film deals with the idea of human encroachment in terms of nature, which is a nice touch to the normative values of animated features. The animals, except the poor bugs zapped in the zapper, are given quality treatment as respected individuals with personalities. The humans, on the other hand, are mostly villainous and vile, always wanting to trap the animals or kill them in the most “inhumane way possible.” The stereotypes of human beings in suburbia is, sadly, pretty accurate from my own experience. While this may be annoying for some viewers, I found it sardonic and hilarious. Some of the ideas in Over the Hedge had me rolling.

The animation is good, but it won’t win any awards based on its artistic merit. It’s above average animation at best. For the most part, Over the Hedge is a film designed for laughs and satire of the human condition. It’s a punchy, witty, funny little film that will provide plenty of fun for adults and kids alike. With top-notch vocal talents and good comic timing, Over the Hedge is a nice little treat.

7/10

Trailer:

Alvin and the Chipmunks

Here comes trouble. Released on December 14, 2007 in most North American markets, Alvin and the Chipmunks was lambasted by critics and grossed almost double its expected box office, selling out most showings on its opening weekend. At the time of this post, Alvin and the Chipmunks is a solid second at the box office, right behind National Treasure: Book of Secrets and ahead of I Am Legend. That shouldn’t really be too surprising, as the nostalgia factor makes this family film a must-see for fans of Alvin and the Chipmunks.

Tim Hill directed Alvin and the Chipmunks. Hill is probably best known for being a writer on SpongeBob SquarePants, but he also directed Muppets From Space and Garfield: A Tale of Two Kitties. It’s apparent that Hill has a resume involving talking animals and creatures, so he was likely a wise choice to handle the talking chipmunks.

Look, let’s be honest here. Alvin and the Chipmunks is about as middle of the road as a movie gets. It’s not really particularly good, although there were some funny moments and the nostalgia factor worked for me. It’s also not really bad and is a significantly better film that many 2007 offerings. I’d rather watch Alvin and the Chipmunks thirty times in a row before sitting through Good Luck Chuck again. Alvin and the Chipmunks, much like the musical group and animated series, isn’t meant to be taken seriously. Many critics must have missed the memo, as the critiques towards the film range from the “implausibility of the story” to the “annoyance of the characters’ voices.” Fair enough, I guess, but critiquing a movie about talking and singing chipmunks requires a certain context, in my opinion.

Alvin and the Chipmunks stars Jason Lee as Dave Seville, the struggling songwriter. One day, Dave discovers three talking chipmunks in his muffin basket (long story) and learns, soon enough, that they can sing. The chipmunks are, of course, Alvin (voiced by Justin Long), Simon (voiced by Matthew Gray Gubler), and Theodore (Jesse McCartney). Theodore was always my favourite and in the film, it’s no different. Basically, Dave thinks he finally has the act that will help him out, so he takes the chipmunks to his boss (David Cross) and shows them off. After a sequence of comical events, Dave’s boss eventually takes over and works the poor chipmunks to the bone in show biz, just in time for Dave to save them in the final act.

It’s a pretty straightforward, yet entirely relatable and applicable plot. Elements of the film include the idea of a family, as there likely is no more non-traditional family than a guy and a bunch of singing chipmunks. The idea of the glitz and allure of the music industry is cleverly lampooned in a few spots, with David Cross being a more than competent villain to the little tale. The story is simple enough to resonate with the large number of kids in the audience, that’s for sure. Let’s not be foolish, either: this movie’s for kids.

Alvin and the Chipmunks owes a lot of its simple-minded humour to Hill’s time as a writer on SpongeBob SquarePants, that’s for sure. The humour, often referred to by critics as “potty humour”, is kind of clever in some instances with a whole lot less actual “potty humour” than expected. I think there may be a chipmunk fart joke and, let’s be honest, it’s pretty funny when a chipmunk farts. Also, the idea of the music industry serving as a cruel villain is funny enough.

The CGI on the chipmunks is a little grating at times, as they are cute but a little bit strange looking. It’s not a very good job, but it is a passable one. Alvin and the Chipmunks uses the CGI to the limit, though, creating a zillion snazzy dance numbers for the trio of critters in one pop-dance sequence after another. In terms of the non-CGI stuff, a lot of the acting is a little bit wooden. Jason Lee could have used an infusion of personality, as his “Alvin!” yell never seems to reach proper levels of childish glee. Cross is actually the best part in the film, for the adults at least, as his character is just the right combination of pseudo-sincerity and sleaze.

Overall, Alvin and the Chipmunks isn’t a bad little film. I can recommend it to those that know what they’re getting into. It’s a fair shade better than a lot of 2007 films and it won’t step on any toes. Hill directs a simple film with a dedication to charm and laughter, making it idyllic for a Saturday afternoon matinée with the kids. Alvin and the Chipmunks is an acquired taste, but their comeback is a lot less painful than it looks.

5.1/10

Trailer:

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