The Visuals Soar But the Rest Drags in Legend of the Guardians

I'm a sucker for talking-animal movies, so when I saw advertisements for Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga'Hoole, based on the intermediate series about warrior owls, I was intrigued. I'd seen the books but had never read them, and I thought this might serve as a good introduction to that world. Now that I've watched it, my interest in the books has dwindled. Granted, it's generally not a good idea to judge a book by its film adaptation, and I do get the sense that this story would work better on paper. But I can't say the plot really grabbed me either.

Legend of the Guardians is a computer-animated movie directed by Zack Snyder and starring a host of voice actors from England, Australia and New Zealand. Some of them, like Helen Mirren, Hugo Weaving, David Wenham, Anthony LaPaglia and Sam Neill, are familiar to me; most aren't. All of the characters, aside from a peculiar snake who serves as a nursemaid to the family of Soren (Jim Sturgess), are owls, and all of them have unusual names, and all those accents sort of blended together for me and I had a rather hard time telling everyone apart. My favorite characters are Digger (Wenham) and Twilight (LaPaglia), who basically serve as comic relief, which is sorely needed in this dark and sometimes disturbing movie.

The animation, while perhaps not quite at a Pixar level, is very well done, particularly when it comes to the backgrounds. The enormous Tree of Ga'Hoole, where the legendary Guardians live, is breathtakingly gorgeous, and some of the scenes of the owls in flight are as well. There's a Tolkienish quality to the film, with the Guardians whom Soren seeks light-bathed, ethereal and reminiscent of the Elves. Meanwhile, the evil owls from whom the kidnapped Soren escapes reside in a stronghold reminding me of Saruman's fortress of Isengard. Here, the cruel Pure Ones, led by Metalbeak (Joel Edgerton) and Nyra (Mirren), forge weapons and build an army out of abducted owlings brainwashed into obedience.

It's a pretty basic quest story, with Soren, having been taken by the Pure Ones, making his escape with some help from the grizzled Grimble (Weaving), who assures him that the legends he's heard about the Guardians are true, that they really do exist and he must go to them for help before Metalbeak's rise to power is complete. Undertaking this mission involves a leap of faith, as Soren must decide whether to believe Grimble or his own brother, Kludd (Ryan Kwanten), who says it's a load of hogwash. But Kludd has chosen to ally himself with Nyra, and he and Soren never saw eye to eye anyway, so the budding hero makes his choice, laying the groundwork for a future showdown with his hard-hearted sibling, who later uses their little sister as a means of gaining greater rank within the Pure army.

It's a simple story, but I found it hard to stay engaged with it. My mind kept wandering, and the oppressive feel of the film didn't help. While there's nothing too graphic, the movie is certainly violent, and the depiction of the brainwashing of the young abductees is just plain creepy. It's dark, and frankly, it's also dull more often than not. At more than an hour and a half in length, it's on the long side for an animated film, and the length doesn't do it any favors. I also found the use of pop music rather incongruous and distracting (though I have to smile that one of the included songs is by Owl City).

I like the epic feel of the movie and the way it explores ideas about faith and about the boundaries between legend and reality. Parts of it are visually dazzling, and some of the banter between Digger and Twilight is pretty funny. The voice work is fine as well, with Weaving, Wenham, LaPaglia and a bone-chilling Mirren standing out the most. But I wouldn't watch it again, and if a sequel comes out, as the film's conclusion suggests may be the case, I think I'll give it a pass.

When the Princess Dies, The Queen is Thrown Into Crisis

My parents grew up in the turbulent sixties, when tragedies such as the deaths of John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr. seemed to occur with alarming frequency, riveting a nation whenever they did. By the time I came along in 1981, things had settled down somewhat, so there are few single newsworthy events from the last two decades of the 20th century that stand out in my memory. The death of Princess Diana is one of those. I couldn't ever remember having seen so many people so overwhelmed with anguish, and though I hadn't previously paid that much attention to the affairs of the royals, I found myself very emotionally involved. I suspect that was the case for many.

Now that a decade has passed, a film about the extraordinary events of that week can be viewed with some detachment, though I was flooded with memories as I watched The Queen, the drama about how stodgy Queen Elizabeth II (Helen Mirren) and freshly minted Prime Minister Tony Blair (Michael Sheen) dealt with the unprecedented outpouring of grief over the terrible accident. The movie utilizes clips of press coverage from the time but mostly focuses on what was happening behind the scenes.

Mirren gives a wonderfully understated performance as the queen who helped bring her country through World War II and has remained a dignified and intelligent figurehead all these decades later. Initially, she comes across as unreasonably stiff, but she soon becomes a laudable figure struggling to remain relevant in a rapidly changing world. And she's not all starch and pomp, either; I was surprised to see her driving a sporty vehicle and tromping around in the countryside with her dogs. In the end, the portrait we get of the queen is a very sympathetic one, despite her sometimes frustrating degree of restraint.

Tony Blair comes off even better, and while Sheen doesn't look all that much like him, he captures his energy and optimism. We watch him try to come to terms with the monarchy's lack of interest in engaging with the public during what he increasingly perceives as a national crisis. Though he desperately wants the queen to acknowledge the mood of the country, he is disgusted by the way the people have turned on their monarch, slamming her in all of the papers. Even his wife (Helen McCrory) rarely has a kind word for her, speaking of her much like Mrs. Cratchit speaks of Ebenezer Scrooge. Indeed, of all the characters featured in prominence, she came across as the least likable, always sniping about something. It was not a flattering portrayal.

Prince Philip (James Cromwell), meanwhile, was presented as a cantankerous old grump, but one can hardly blame him; if the queen feels like an anachronism, poor Prince Philip must feel downright invisible most of the time. While I merely found Cherie Blair obnoxious, the prince was somehow endearing in the midst of all his grumbling, partly because I've loved Cromwell ever since Babe, partly because it's obvious that he cares deeply about his family, even if he has a hard time openly displaying his emotions.

Prince Charles (Alex Jennings), deeply bereaved despite the dissolution of his marriage to Diana a year earlier, seems like a lost little boy attempting, in the midst of his own sorrow, to address the needs of his people and to assert himself to his authoritarian mother, while the queen's advisor, Robert Janvrin (Roger Allam), gradually comes to understand that on this matter, the queen's instincts may not serve her as well as they usually do. Meanwhile, the feisty Queen Mum (Sylvia Sims) observes all the goings-on, and as she complains that no one ever lets her know what's happening, she completes the family dynamic and it's easy to see the Windsors are not so different from the rest of us after all.

This is a beautiful film that offers an intimate look at a private family in the public eye. Long live The Queen!

Yorkshire's Blossoms Are Beautiful to Behold

Earlier this year, I had planned to go to England for five and a half weeks this summer. Had this panned out, I would be “leavin’ on a jet plane” tomorrow. It didn’t, so I’m not. I have mixed feelings about this. But I’m determined to get to England again, and this time to see as much of the countryside as possible. That’s what I’m really in love with. The countryside of J. R. R. Tolkien and A. A. Milne and James Herriot. And, incidentally, the countryside of the movie I’m about to review.

A couple years ago, just after it came out, a friend of mine told me that she’d seen Calendar Girls and that it was a very good movie. I didn’t doubt her word, though the whole unclothed women premise caused me to raise my eyebrows. But my list of must-see movies is interminably long, so I didn’t get around to renting it until this year. It was my mom’s suggestion, actually, but when she pointed it out the bells in my head began to go off. So we rented it, along with a couple other movies, both of which I had a stronger urge to see. In the end, though, Calendar Girls got my vote as the best of the three movies we’d rented.

The plot, which is based on a true story, centers around a group of Yorkshire women, middle aged or older, who meet regularly for a variety of respectable, if often mind-numbingly dull, activities sponsored by the Women’s Institute in Knapely. Two of the participants, Chris (Helen Mirren) and Annie (Julie Walters), are especially fond of poking fun at the uninteresting guests found by their chapter’s severe leader, Marie (Geraldine James). The film takes a dark turn early on when Annie’s husband John (John Alderton) is diagnosed with cancer. We are allowed just enough of a glimpse of this gentle man before he succumbs to the disease that we are able to understand how much he meant not only to his wife but to the whole community. His kindness and eloquence are accentuated when, shortly after his death, Chris reads the speech he had intended to present at the next WI meeting. “The flowers of Yorkshire are like the women of Yorkshire,” she reads. “Every stage of their growth has its own beauty, but the last phase is always the most glorious.” Thus the seeds of inspiration are sown.

The bulk of the film chronicles the attempts of a small faction of these women, headed by the irrepressible Chris, to fashion a calendar featuring 12 Knapely women in that last glorious phase, bare as the day they were born. This presents some logistical problems, but the main obstacle is Marie, who is loath to put a stain on her chapter’s respectability. The women are determined, however, because they want to honor John’s memory and create a project whose proceeds can purchase a comfortable sofa for family members of cancer patients. The small undertaking blossoms into something far grander than any of them could have envisioned, leading to comical complications as well as a couple dramatic confrontations.

The calendar itself is an integral part of the movie, and even a prude like me had to admit it was pulled off quite artistically. Each page features one of the women doing some sort of everyday task that might normally be undertaken by the WI. Sewing, baking, playing the piano... Each one is arranged so that the woman in question is censored by the props around her. There’s a wry comedic element to each of the photographs, and overall it’s quite an impressive presentation. Visually speaking, though, what I enjoyed most about the film was the aforementioned countryside. Yorkshire is absolutely gorgeous. I could look at it all day. In fact, Calendar Girls is almost as good an advertisement for England as Lord of the Rings is for New Zealand.

The acting is very good all around, but my favorite member of the ensemble is John Alderton, in spite of the brevity of his presence on screen. His character pervades the remainder of the film and lends heart to all the amusing antics that follow the dawning of Chris’ unusual idea. There’s a bit of profanity, and obviously some nudity, but nothing much to get offended about. In fact, this film, like the Paul Stookey song Give a D***, is a perfect demonstrator of why prudishness is not always the best state of mind to maintain. More important is reveling in the gift that is life, especially if such an action can in turn bestow that gift upon others.