It’s rather rare for me to happen upon a Disney movie I’ve never heard of before, but such was the case with Candleshoe,
a 1977 movie directed by frequent Disney director Norman Tokar and
based on a book by Michael Innes. Though the book was entitled Christmas at Candleshoe,
the movie isn’t tied to that season; while I love movies with a
Christmas theme, it’s probably just as well that this one lacks it
because that makes it more likely to be watched year-round.
Candleshoe stars a young Jodie Foster as Casey, a tough-talking street teen who reminds me of Jesse, the surly thug-in-training in Free Willy.
The movies share similar scenes at the beginning of kids running
rampant in the streets, wreaking havoc, and those scenes seem to end in a
similar way too until it becomes apparent that Casey has been
apprehended not by the cops but by a petty crook with a complex scheme.
In a storyline that made me think very much of Don Bluth’s Anastasia,
the bearded Bundage (Leo McKern) and his sour accomplice Grimsworthy
(Vivian Pickles) plan to groom Casey, who looks remarkably like the
long-lost granddaughter of wealthy widow Lady St. Edmund (Helen Hayes).
If they can convince the old lady that her beloved relative has
returned, Casey will be in an ideal position to find her late husband’s
fabled treasure. Other elements akin to Anastasia
are a loose brick in the wall, a song from a music box as a bond
between a woman and her grandchild, and a waltz in a decrepit room that
recalls memories of regal magnificence. It makes me wonder whether Bluth
was inspired by this movie at all.
Unlike the titular orphan
in that animated classic, Los Angeles-based Casey doesn’t much care
about her roots, but she agrees to Bundage’s plot because it means an
all-expenses-paid trip to an English estate, where she presumes she will
live in the lap of luxury, and a cut of the spoils once she finds the
treasure. She is also a skilled con artist herself, and it is her skill
that grants her entry into Lady St. Edmund’s household. However, as she
begins to compile clues, she makes two startling discoveries: this
aristocrat is no longer wealthy, and she actually likes the old woman
and her ramshackle family. Will she have the heart to go through with
her plan under these new circumstances?
The supporting cast is
great, with David Niven the clear standout as the devoted Priory, Lady
St. Edmund’s butler who performs multiple roles in an effort to protect
her from finding out that the rest of the staff had to be let go due to
insufficient funds. Most of the movie’s funniest moments involve him
frantically juggling guises, a charade known to the four waifs who call
the castle of Candleshoe home.
Of these, we see the most of
Cluny (Veronica Quilligan), a somewhat stuffy girl around Casey’s age
who is deeply suspicious of her when she arrives. The only orphan who
isn’t is Bobby (David Samuels), an adorable little rascal who takes to
her immediately. Hayes, who I love so much in Herbie Rides Again,
isn’t quite as feisty in this movie but still is a sweet-natured woman
willing to fight for the home her husband gave her, the same battle she
wages in Herbie Rides Again, though she joins the battle much later here.
This movie has plenty of humor to it between Niven’s role-switching,
the children’s squabbling and Bundage’s clumsy efforts to make sure
Casey holds up her end of the bargain. Nonetheless, I’d classify this as
more of a drama than a comedy. There’s a wistful tone to much of the
film, and its central element is Casey’s development from a cynical
pickpocket to someone willing to open her heart to love amidst the
gorgeous ruins of a once-grand country mansion. As few tales move me
more than those that involve the redemption of a troubled character,
that’s hardly a complaint. I don’t know why it took me so long to find
out about Candleshoe, but I’m very glad I did.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Monday, December 5, 2011
Ryan Kelly Returns to the Theme of Romantic Regret in Messages
Last year saw the release of In Time, the debut solo album of Celtic Thunder's Ryan Kelly. Two of its tracks, In Too Deep and I Wish That I Could Get Over You,
deal with the heartache of realizing that a relationship that seemed so
perfect simply isn't going to work out. Kelly returns to that theme in
the song Messages, which he recorded for the musical project Five Leaves Left - a song which, incidentally, includes the words "in time" in its lyrics.
This song is an interesting collaboration of artists, of whom I confess only Ryan was familiar to me. Brian McAteer wrote the song, while production is by Donal O'Connor and mastering by Cormac O'Kane. Paul McSherry plays the guitar, and Stephen Beggs and Siobhan O'Kelly add some snippets of dialogue toward the end.
This is a song about connection and miscommunication. Ryan's vocals are gently wistful as he sings about his certainty that he and the object of his affections shared a powerful bond and the gradual realization that either he misunderstood or she changed. The central idea of getting messages is one that will resonate with anyone who has struggled to understand exactly what another person is trying to convey.
The most poignant part of the song for me is the earnestly delivered lead-in to the first chorus: "You laughed at the right time, at the punch line. I thought that at this time, there was still time..." The verses proceed in a curious, almost staccato fashion with very short phrases strung together, emblematic of the stilted communication between the two. "And so, I liked this game and loved what it became, this sort-of love."
The song grows rather experimental toward the end with the spoken word interjections, which seem as though they're supposed to sound like answering machine messages, though they feel more like snippets of a fervently delivered speech. They seem disjointed and a bit unsettling, rather like the dialogue in Simon and Garfunkel's Fakin' It; I'm not entirely sure I like the device, but I think it's an interesting way to explore the overall theme of confusion in communication.
While the liner notes single out the guitarist, it's the keyboard that seems most prominent here, along with some light percussion. It's a fairly mellow tune that builds in intensity a bit as vocal harmonies back up Ryan's forlorn lead toward the end. Generally, I like the lyrics and delivery a lot, though a couple of lines have very odd phrasing where it feels like the end of a sentence but is actually part of a preparation for a complete thought. Namely, McAveety keeps splitting up the phrase "kind of" so that "kind" is followed by a noticeable break. It seems he simply wanted to emphasize "kind" for the sake of rhyme, and it just comes off as strange.
For the most part, though, this is a great stand-alone track. When December comes along, no song can ever compete with Dan Fogelberg's Same Old Lang Syne in my mind when it comes to reflections on regret in relationships, but Messages has more of a year-round appeal for someone in the mood for something a little melancholy. Meanwhile, this marks Ryan Kelly's return to recording several months after announcing his retreat from the music business, so downer of a theme aside, this song's very existence is music to fans' ears. Here's hoping there will be plenty more to come!
This song is an interesting collaboration of artists, of whom I confess only Ryan was familiar to me. Brian McAteer wrote the song, while production is by Donal O'Connor and mastering by Cormac O'Kane. Paul McSherry plays the guitar, and Stephen Beggs and Siobhan O'Kelly add some snippets of dialogue toward the end.
This is a song about connection and miscommunication. Ryan's vocals are gently wistful as he sings about his certainty that he and the object of his affections shared a powerful bond and the gradual realization that either he misunderstood or she changed. The central idea of getting messages is one that will resonate with anyone who has struggled to understand exactly what another person is trying to convey.
The most poignant part of the song for me is the earnestly delivered lead-in to the first chorus: "You laughed at the right time, at the punch line. I thought that at this time, there was still time..." The verses proceed in a curious, almost staccato fashion with very short phrases strung together, emblematic of the stilted communication between the two. "And so, I liked this game and loved what it became, this sort-of love."
The song grows rather experimental toward the end with the spoken word interjections, which seem as though they're supposed to sound like answering machine messages, though they feel more like snippets of a fervently delivered speech. They seem disjointed and a bit unsettling, rather like the dialogue in Simon and Garfunkel's Fakin' It; I'm not entirely sure I like the device, but I think it's an interesting way to explore the overall theme of confusion in communication.
While the liner notes single out the guitarist, it's the keyboard that seems most prominent here, along with some light percussion. It's a fairly mellow tune that builds in intensity a bit as vocal harmonies back up Ryan's forlorn lead toward the end. Generally, I like the lyrics and delivery a lot, though a couple of lines have very odd phrasing where it feels like the end of a sentence but is actually part of a preparation for a complete thought. Namely, McAveety keeps splitting up the phrase "kind of" so that "kind" is followed by a noticeable break. It seems he simply wanted to emphasize "kind" for the sake of rhyme, and it just comes off as strange.
For the most part, though, this is a great stand-alone track. When December comes along, no song can ever compete with Dan Fogelberg's Same Old Lang Syne in my mind when it comes to reflections on regret in relationships, but Messages has more of a year-round appeal for someone in the mood for something a little melancholy. Meanwhile, this marks Ryan Kelly's return to recording several months after announcing his retreat from the music business, so downer of a theme aside, this song's very existence is music to fans' ears. Here's hoping there will be plenty more to come!
Mickey Mouse Undertakes a Magical Quest to Save Pluto
When my cousin Kristen and I were growing up, everyone associated me
with Winnie the Pooh and her with Mickey Mouse. In fact, they still do.
While I never got my hands on a Winnie the Pooh video game, one of the
first games I bought when my brother and I finally purchased a console
in the early 1990s – skipping right over the Ataris and Nintendos we’d
played at our friends’ houses to the Super Nintendo – was The Magical
Quest starring Mickey Mouse. Kristen had moved out of state before that
point, but we still got together when we could, and this game was a
staple of our sleepovers.
This is a two-player game, but unlike some Disney SNES games, such as Goof Troop, only one can play at a time. Hence, you’re basically racing each other to see who can beat the game first, or at least who can get the furthest before you decide to give it up for the day. Each player is Mickey Mouse, and when that player loses a life, it’s time for the next player to give it a whirl. When the players are greatly mismatched in terms of game-playing skills, this can lead to some frustration. Annoyingly, there’s no way to save game progress either, so it took us a fair number of get-togethers before we were able to get through the earlier levels quickly enough to finish the game in one sitting.
Mickey’s basic form is his typical black, red and gold outfit, and plain old unencumbered Mickey has some advantages in game play but lacks any special powers. However, he has three different costumes that he can change into. Sorcerer Mickey shoots magic, fireman Mickey sprays water and mountain climber Mickey shoots out a grappling hook that allows him to scale cliffs. Each has its charms, but my favorite is probably the fireman, since it’s such fun to see the water extinguish those fires and, in certain situations, create icy outcroppings. The grappling hook is great, too, but I often had trouble making it work properly.
The Magical Quest has six levels, each of which gets progressively more difficult, though after a few times through, the first three are fairly simple to beat. In Treetops, Mickey must ascend a series of twisty vines in a landscape that seems partly inspired by Mickey and the Beanstalk. This level is fun and not super-tricky, with Mickey hitching rides on flying tomatoes (not of the Olympic snowboarding variety) and disturbing snoozing birds to get to where he needs to go. The boss, a giant snake-like dragon with Pete’s head, is easy to beat by throwing projectiles at him, and the Pete-headed spider at the end of Dark Forest is similarly simple to vanquish if you can get the right angle for stomping on his head.
Fire Grotto is more challenging, since fires keep popping up randomly as they do in the Princess Bride’s Fire Swamp. Still, there’s usually enough forewarning that you can get through the level without being burnt to a crisp. The hardest part is keeping up enough fire energy, which can be boosted by finding hidden fire hydrants, much as magic can be boosted by collecting magic lamps.
The hardest levels by far, though, are the last three. Pete’s Peak is incredibly windy, so there’s always danger of simply blowing off a cliff, and the boss, a mother eagle, is incredibly difficult to defeat. Snowy Valley, meanwhile, is slippery, and it’s very hard to keep your footing. The game culminates in Pete’s Castle, where Mickey finally hopes to rescue the missing Pluto. After those last two levels, this one seems almost easy by comparison until you get to Pete; actually beating him is another matter.
The graphics are pretty decent for two decades ago, and the music has a fun adventurous ring to it. Once you’re proficient, beating the game in an afternoon is not too difficult, and my cousin and I managed it several times, though we probably had the most fun while we were still getting the hang of it. While elements of it can be aggravating, this is a classic game holding many happy memories for me.
This is a two-player game, but unlike some Disney SNES games, such as Goof Troop, only one can play at a time. Hence, you’re basically racing each other to see who can beat the game first, or at least who can get the furthest before you decide to give it up for the day. Each player is Mickey Mouse, and when that player loses a life, it’s time for the next player to give it a whirl. When the players are greatly mismatched in terms of game-playing skills, this can lead to some frustration. Annoyingly, there’s no way to save game progress either, so it took us a fair number of get-togethers before we were able to get through the earlier levels quickly enough to finish the game in one sitting.
Mickey’s basic form is his typical black, red and gold outfit, and plain old unencumbered Mickey has some advantages in game play but lacks any special powers. However, he has three different costumes that he can change into. Sorcerer Mickey shoots magic, fireman Mickey sprays water and mountain climber Mickey shoots out a grappling hook that allows him to scale cliffs. Each has its charms, but my favorite is probably the fireman, since it’s such fun to see the water extinguish those fires and, in certain situations, create icy outcroppings. The grappling hook is great, too, but I often had trouble making it work properly.
The Magical Quest has six levels, each of which gets progressively more difficult, though after a few times through, the first three are fairly simple to beat. In Treetops, Mickey must ascend a series of twisty vines in a landscape that seems partly inspired by Mickey and the Beanstalk. This level is fun and not super-tricky, with Mickey hitching rides on flying tomatoes (not of the Olympic snowboarding variety) and disturbing snoozing birds to get to where he needs to go. The boss, a giant snake-like dragon with Pete’s head, is easy to beat by throwing projectiles at him, and the Pete-headed spider at the end of Dark Forest is similarly simple to vanquish if you can get the right angle for stomping on his head.
Fire Grotto is more challenging, since fires keep popping up randomly as they do in the Princess Bride’s Fire Swamp. Still, there’s usually enough forewarning that you can get through the level without being burnt to a crisp. The hardest part is keeping up enough fire energy, which can be boosted by finding hidden fire hydrants, much as magic can be boosted by collecting magic lamps.
The hardest levels by far, though, are the last three. Pete’s Peak is incredibly windy, so there’s always danger of simply blowing off a cliff, and the boss, a mother eagle, is incredibly difficult to defeat. Snowy Valley, meanwhile, is slippery, and it’s very hard to keep your footing. The game culminates in Pete’s Castle, where Mickey finally hopes to rescue the missing Pluto. After those last two levels, this one seems almost easy by comparison until you get to Pete; actually beating him is another matter.
The graphics are pretty decent for two decades ago, and the music has a fun adventurous ring to it. Once you’re proficient, beating the game in an afternoon is not too difficult, and my cousin and I managed it several times, though we probably had the most fun while we were still getting the hang of it. While elements of it can be aggravating, this is a classic game holding many happy memories for me.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
What Is a Princess? Many Different Things...
The Disney princesses have sometimes come under fire for giving little
girls unrealistic and unhealthy ideas about beauty and romance, but each
Disney princess has traits that make her unique and admirable. The
level one Step Into Reading book What Is a Princess?, written by Jennifer Liberts Weinberg and illustrated by Atelier Philippe Harchy, focuses on those positive characteristics.
What Is a Princess? includes six of the Disney princesses: Snow White, Belle, Cinderella, Jasmine, Ariel and Aurora (here called Briar Rose). With the exception of Ariel, who has six pages to herself, and Cinderella, who has seven, each young woman is the focus of four pages. With simple language and colorful, detailed illustrations, each small segment exemplifies one or two things that “a princess is.”
The book does a good job of showing that there is more to being a princess than simply looking pretty. Because of the wording, the implication is that all princesses have all of these traits, and that’s my main complaint here; perhaps it would be better if it said “can be” or “should be” instead of “is.” For instance, other princesses in the book, particularly Belle, are as brave as Jasmine when she stands up to Jafar, but bravery is certainly not Snow White’s strong suit. Still, the purpose is to demonstrate the many worthy characteristics that young girls can emulate in their everyday lives.
Cinderella, who in general seems to be slightly more prominent than the rest of the Disney princesses, is really the only one with a specifically feminine focus. “A princess like to dress up,” Weinberg writes. Elsewhere, we see Snow White give Grumpy a kiss on his head, but this is to illustrate her kindness. Other laudable qualities include being smart (Belle), a dreamer (Ariel) and polite (Briar Rose). The last one makes me chuckle a little because it looks as though she is being presented with her birthday dress by the fairies who raised her, which in the movie is swiftly followed by a meltdown. Well, at least the polite part came first.
This book is designed for very early readers, so the language is extremely simple. It makes sense, then, that the format is “A princess is,” even though that undermines their individuality a bit. A sentence beginning with that phrase appears seven times, with four other sentences using a slightly different format. Usually the sentence mentioning the attribute is followed by another sentence demonstrating it. For instance, “A princess is caring. Belle helps the Beast when he is hurt.” Of course, in context, Belle is technically not a princess yet, but everyone knows she will be.
What Is a Princess? is a simple but attractively illustrated book that should appeal to the princess-loving kindergarten crowd. Not every little girl may exhibit all of these traits, but it’s good to recognize that things like an adventurous spirit and a love of books are just important as the physical trappings of a princess. What’s more, these are the qualities that are really worth imitating.
What Is a Princess? includes six of the Disney princesses: Snow White, Belle, Cinderella, Jasmine, Ariel and Aurora (here called Briar Rose). With the exception of Ariel, who has six pages to herself, and Cinderella, who has seven, each young woman is the focus of four pages. With simple language and colorful, detailed illustrations, each small segment exemplifies one or two things that “a princess is.”
The book does a good job of showing that there is more to being a princess than simply looking pretty. Because of the wording, the implication is that all princesses have all of these traits, and that’s my main complaint here; perhaps it would be better if it said “can be” or “should be” instead of “is.” For instance, other princesses in the book, particularly Belle, are as brave as Jasmine when she stands up to Jafar, but bravery is certainly not Snow White’s strong suit. Still, the purpose is to demonstrate the many worthy characteristics that young girls can emulate in their everyday lives.
Cinderella, who in general seems to be slightly more prominent than the rest of the Disney princesses, is really the only one with a specifically feminine focus. “A princess like to dress up,” Weinberg writes. Elsewhere, we see Snow White give Grumpy a kiss on his head, but this is to illustrate her kindness. Other laudable qualities include being smart (Belle), a dreamer (Ariel) and polite (Briar Rose). The last one makes me chuckle a little because it looks as though she is being presented with her birthday dress by the fairies who raised her, which in the movie is swiftly followed by a meltdown. Well, at least the polite part came first.
This book is designed for very early readers, so the language is extremely simple. It makes sense, then, that the format is “A princess is,” even though that undermines their individuality a bit. A sentence beginning with that phrase appears seven times, with four other sentences using a slightly different format. Usually the sentence mentioning the attribute is followed by another sentence demonstrating it. For instance, “A princess is caring. Belle helps the Beast when he is hurt.” Of course, in context, Belle is technically not a princess yet, but everyone knows she will be.
What Is a Princess? is a simple but attractively illustrated book that should appeal to the princess-loving kindergarten crowd. Not every little girl may exhibit all of these traits, but it’s good to recognize that things like an adventurous spirit and a love of books are just important as the physical trappings of a princess. What’s more, these are the qualities that are really worth imitating.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
An Allergic FBI Agent Squares Off Against a Furry Informant in That Darn Cat
Last week, I watched Norman Tokar’s The Cat From Outer Space
and was surprised to discover that it starred not Dean Jones but Ken
Berry, another leading man from Disney’s Herbie franchise. The next DVD
to arrive in my mailbox was Robert Stevenson’s That Darn Cat!,
and it made me smile to see Jones in the lead in that movie. I don’t
know if I had my Herbie stars mixed up or my Disney cat flicks mixed up,
but either way, it felt as though the world had righted itself.
Jones plays Zeke Kelso, the FBI agent who leads the investigation when plucky Patti Randall (Hayley Mills) reports her suspicion that her drifter of a cat, whom she calls D.C. (short for “Darn Cat”), may have a crucial clue that could lead to the bank teller whose kidnapping is headline news. The reason for this mental leap is the watch Patti finds around D.C.’s neck in place of his collar, particularly what looks to be the beginning of the word “HELP” scratched into the back. So begins a curious partnership as Zeke channels his resources into trailing this felicitous feline on his nighttime rounds.
Mills is sweet and energetic, if a tad on the daffy side, while her older sister Ingrid (Dorothy Provine) is rather snippy. She has good reasons for it, though; Zeke sets up shop in her room while she’s out, leaving her confused and under suspicion of untoward behavior by nosy neighbor Mrs. MacDougal. This sour busybody is played by Elsa Lanchester, who I recognized right away as indignant nanny Katie Nana from Mary Poppins. She is, if possible, even more comically unpleasant here, and the efforts of her disgruntled husband (William Demarest), who has a habit of turning off his hearing aid to tune her out, to undermine her are quite entertaining.
Ingrid also has to deal with the amorous advances of slimy carpool driver Gregory Benson (Roddy McDowall), who reminds me of Big Bang Theory’s Howard Wolowitz. There’s a part of me that feels sorry for this socially awkward Brit who seems cowed by an overbearing mother, but he’s too generally rude to stay in my sympathies long, and the scene in which he tries to seduce Ingrid with an explanation of how to properly prepare a duck for dinner is just plain skeezy. McDowall, incidentally, is in both this movie and The Cat from Outer Space, perhaps another reason I got them confused.
There’s really nothing all that remarkable about D.C. He’s basically a typical cat with a touch of wanderlust and a knack for knowing when he is being followed. While Lanchester and Demarest are probably the biggest sources of comic relief here, there are some funny scenes of D.C. thwarting those who want to use him as an “informant.” The antagonism between him and Zeke, who goes into sneezing fits whenever he is nearby, adds to the humor. Additionally, while he’s only in the movie for a short time, the always-funny Ed Wynn is a hoot as a frazzled jewelry store owner.
While I generally found the movie engaging, I had a hard time really connecting with Patti and especially Ingrid, so when they were in scenes apart from Zeke or D.C., I usually found my attention wandering a bit. Still, this is a fun flick with a swingin’ Sherman Brothers theme song that Bobby Darin sings with all the swagger he can muster. As someone who has been known to affectionately utter the title phrase a few times myself, I think That Darn Cat! is darn entertaining.
Jones plays Zeke Kelso, the FBI agent who leads the investigation when plucky Patti Randall (Hayley Mills) reports her suspicion that her drifter of a cat, whom she calls D.C. (short for “Darn Cat”), may have a crucial clue that could lead to the bank teller whose kidnapping is headline news. The reason for this mental leap is the watch Patti finds around D.C.’s neck in place of his collar, particularly what looks to be the beginning of the word “HELP” scratched into the back. So begins a curious partnership as Zeke channels his resources into trailing this felicitous feline on his nighttime rounds.
Mills is sweet and energetic, if a tad on the daffy side, while her older sister Ingrid (Dorothy Provine) is rather snippy. She has good reasons for it, though; Zeke sets up shop in her room while she’s out, leaving her confused and under suspicion of untoward behavior by nosy neighbor Mrs. MacDougal. This sour busybody is played by Elsa Lanchester, who I recognized right away as indignant nanny Katie Nana from Mary Poppins. She is, if possible, even more comically unpleasant here, and the efforts of her disgruntled husband (William Demarest), who has a habit of turning off his hearing aid to tune her out, to undermine her are quite entertaining.
Ingrid also has to deal with the amorous advances of slimy carpool driver Gregory Benson (Roddy McDowall), who reminds me of Big Bang Theory’s Howard Wolowitz. There’s a part of me that feels sorry for this socially awkward Brit who seems cowed by an overbearing mother, but he’s too generally rude to stay in my sympathies long, and the scene in which he tries to seduce Ingrid with an explanation of how to properly prepare a duck for dinner is just plain skeezy. McDowall, incidentally, is in both this movie and The Cat from Outer Space, perhaps another reason I got them confused.
There’s really nothing all that remarkable about D.C. He’s basically a typical cat with a touch of wanderlust and a knack for knowing when he is being followed. While Lanchester and Demarest are probably the biggest sources of comic relief here, there are some funny scenes of D.C. thwarting those who want to use him as an “informant.” The antagonism between him and Zeke, who goes into sneezing fits whenever he is nearby, adds to the humor. Additionally, while he’s only in the movie for a short time, the always-funny Ed Wynn is a hoot as a frazzled jewelry store owner.
While I generally found the movie engaging, I had a hard time really connecting with Patti and especially Ingrid, so when they were in scenes apart from Zeke or D.C., I usually found my attention wandering a bit. Still, this is a fun flick with a swingin’ Sherman Brothers theme song that Bobby Darin sings with all the swagger he can muster. As someone who has been known to affectionately utter the title phrase a few times myself, I think That Darn Cat! is darn entertaining.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Eeyore Gets By With a Little Help From His Friends... Eventually
The Veggie Tales video Are You My Neighbor? includes a Seussian
retelling of the story of the Good Samaritan in which a pair of uppity
asparaguses sing at length about the fact that they are too busy to help
the cucumber who has fallen into a ditch and is begging for their
assistance. It’s a moment that is both comical and sad; if they’d take a
quick break from rhapsodizing about how much they have to do, they
could solve this poor fellow’s predicament in a jiffy.
I thought of this scene as I read Just Be Nice… and Help a Friend!, a Winnie the Pooh Golden book written by Ann Braybrooks and illustrated by Darrell Baker. In this vibrantly colored paperback, vaguely shaped like Eeyore’s head, Eeyore has a vexing problem. The poor gray donkey, always inclined toward gloominess anyway, has once again lost his tail. He searches in every place that he can think of, but his tail is nowhere to be found. What’s a downhearted donkey to do?
Eeyore hits upon a solution. He will ask his friends to help him search. Surely with all of his plush pals on the case, or even just a couple of them, he will be able to locate that tail in no time! There’s just one problem. Everyone he consults is in the midst of a project or activity. Aside from Rabbit, whose cantankerous response to Eeyore is pretty typical, no one is flat-out rude to him. However, nobody thinks that Eeyore finding his tail is a particularly pressing concern, and they make that perfectly clear. All of the major Hundred-Acre Wood characters appear in this book except for Gopher and Christopher Robin, and all of them have some excuse keeping them from hurrying off to help Eeyore with his problem. It’s downright discouraging.
The characters in this book seem like themselves, albeit perhaps a bit more preoccupied than usual. Still, they are preoccupied with the sorts of things I would expect. Pooh is polishing off a jar of honey; Piglet has decided to rearrange his furniture; Tigger, Kanga and Roo are headed for a picnic. Their dismissive behavior is disheartening but more oblivious than mean-spirited. They’re just very wrapped up in their own activities and can’t think about anything else right at the moment. What’s more, they ultimately apologize and offer to help Eeyore search.
Of course, just because someone needs help does not mean that one is obligated to offer assistance. There’s also such a thing as taking advantage of a friend’s willingness to help, and that shouldn’t be encouraged. But all Braybrooks is doing here is showing how much a friend’s help is appreciated during a difficult time. The 24-page story is mostly dialogue-driven, with expressive illustrations capturing the personalities of Eeyore and his friends. While they may not always be as attentive as he would like, they will always rally to cheer up their gloomy pal; after all, that’s what friends are for.
I thought of this scene as I read Just Be Nice… and Help a Friend!, a Winnie the Pooh Golden book written by Ann Braybrooks and illustrated by Darrell Baker. In this vibrantly colored paperback, vaguely shaped like Eeyore’s head, Eeyore has a vexing problem. The poor gray donkey, always inclined toward gloominess anyway, has once again lost his tail. He searches in every place that he can think of, but his tail is nowhere to be found. What’s a downhearted donkey to do?
Eeyore hits upon a solution. He will ask his friends to help him search. Surely with all of his plush pals on the case, or even just a couple of them, he will be able to locate that tail in no time! There’s just one problem. Everyone he consults is in the midst of a project or activity. Aside from Rabbit, whose cantankerous response to Eeyore is pretty typical, no one is flat-out rude to him. However, nobody thinks that Eeyore finding his tail is a particularly pressing concern, and they make that perfectly clear. All of the major Hundred-Acre Wood characters appear in this book except for Gopher and Christopher Robin, and all of them have some excuse keeping them from hurrying off to help Eeyore with his problem. It’s downright discouraging.
The characters in this book seem like themselves, albeit perhaps a bit more preoccupied than usual. Still, they are preoccupied with the sorts of things I would expect. Pooh is polishing off a jar of honey; Piglet has decided to rearrange his furniture; Tigger, Kanga and Roo are headed for a picnic. Their dismissive behavior is disheartening but more oblivious than mean-spirited. They’re just very wrapped up in their own activities and can’t think about anything else right at the moment. What’s more, they ultimately apologize and offer to help Eeyore search.
Of course, just because someone needs help does not mean that one is obligated to offer assistance. There’s also such a thing as taking advantage of a friend’s willingness to help, and that shouldn’t be encouraged. But all Braybrooks is doing here is showing how much a friend’s help is appreciated during a difficult time. The 24-page story is mostly dialogue-driven, with expressive illustrations capturing the personalities of Eeyore and his friends. While they may not always be as attentive as he would like, they will always rally to cheer up their gloomy pal; after all, that’s what friends are for.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
The Cat From Outer Space Needs a Little Human Help
Years ago, my great-uncle, a jovial man known by the nickname Happy,
died, leaving behind a large collection of movies he had taped off of
television. We inherited many of those, one of which was The Cat from Outer Space.
Most of those tapes went kaput long ago, but I remember my brother
Benjamin being enthralled with this particular movie when it made its
way to us. This fall, I watched it again for the first time since the
mid-90s, this time with my brother Nathan, who wasn’t quite so
mesmerized but still found the movie fun.
As the movie opens, we see the landing of a vessel from outer space that contains an alien intelligence in communication with his commander. It isn’t until the conversation ends that we see who was talking: a nondescript cat who spends the next 20 minutes or so of the movie silently observing the ruckus the landing of his ship has caused. Finally, he reveals himself to a bumbling scientist rather like the title character in The Absent-Minded Professor, explaining that he needs help getting back to his ship after gathering the materials needed to get it running again.
That scientist is the endearing Frank, played by Ken Berry, who I mostly know as the sweet-natured Willoughby in Herbie Rides Again. I found his presence interesting because I could have sworn that his role was occupied by Dean Jones, who starred in the original Herbie movie and a sequel. I think Berry makes more sense in this role, however; while Jones tends to come across as rather arrogant, Berry instead projects a charming awkwardness that is especially apparent in his dealings with his perky colleague Liz (Sandy Duncan), whose crush on him causes considerable complications throughout the movie.
The cat, who takes on the name Jake after Frank gives it to him, is voiced by Ronnie Schell, whose delivery is rather detached, with certain novelties arousing unexpected interest. For instance, Jake is very impressed with human cuisine, particularly tuna, and Sandy’s female cat proves a definite distraction. Jake’s ability to interact with humanity in an unusual way comes from his collar, which glows when its powers are in use. With it, he can transmit thoughts out loud and manipulate matter with his mind as well; without it, his skills are limited to those of a typical housecat.
As a big fan of the classic TV show M*A*S*H, I found it curious that both McLean Stevenson and Harry Morgan are in this movie, though they rarely interact. Stevenson played the rather inept Colonel Blake on the series, while Morgan was the more efficient Colonel Potter, who replaced him several seasons in. Here, Stevenson is Frank’s buddy Link, a loafer whose addiction to gambling proves surprisingly helpful, while Morgan is the irritable General Stilton, who is trailed by a gaggle of underlings who pass instructions to each other. Stilton is in charge of the investigation into Jake’s ship, so getting past him is an obstacle, though he mostly serves as comic relief. The more potent antagonist is Mr. Olympus (William Prince), who, thanks to the efforts of weaselly freelance spy Stallwood (Roddy McDowall), has a pretty good idea of what Jake’s collar can do and will stop at nothing to harness that power himself.
This is a silly movie, no doubt about it. Like countless Disney sports comedies, it involves using dubious methods in order to secure a victory, in this case for the purposes of winning enough money to repair Jake’s ship. The government officials are ineffective, and as concerned as they are about Jake’s ship, they certainly don’t keep it very well guarded. The ending leaves some rather significant threads dangling, and some of the dialogue is just plain goofy. My favorite instance would have to be Link, having burst in on Frank in the middle of using Jake’s collar to levitate himself, plopping down on the couch and then casually asking, “Say, what were you doing up in the air?”
I knew from my experience of watching Herbie Goes to Monte Carlo with him a couple years back that my sophisticated brother would probably find plenty of reasons to pick the movie apart, and I was right, but we still had a great time watching the movie together, and his running commentary just added to the hilarity of the movie for me. The Cat from Outer Space is a madcap comedy with an A-list cast, and I happily recommend its brand of intergalactic silliness.
As the movie opens, we see the landing of a vessel from outer space that contains an alien intelligence in communication with his commander. It isn’t until the conversation ends that we see who was talking: a nondescript cat who spends the next 20 minutes or so of the movie silently observing the ruckus the landing of his ship has caused. Finally, he reveals himself to a bumbling scientist rather like the title character in The Absent-Minded Professor, explaining that he needs help getting back to his ship after gathering the materials needed to get it running again.
That scientist is the endearing Frank, played by Ken Berry, who I mostly know as the sweet-natured Willoughby in Herbie Rides Again. I found his presence interesting because I could have sworn that his role was occupied by Dean Jones, who starred in the original Herbie movie and a sequel. I think Berry makes more sense in this role, however; while Jones tends to come across as rather arrogant, Berry instead projects a charming awkwardness that is especially apparent in his dealings with his perky colleague Liz (Sandy Duncan), whose crush on him causes considerable complications throughout the movie.
The cat, who takes on the name Jake after Frank gives it to him, is voiced by Ronnie Schell, whose delivery is rather detached, with certain novelties arousing unexpected interest. For instance, Jake is very impressed with human cuisine, particularly tuna, and Sandy’s female cat proves a definite distraction. Jake’s ability to interact with humanity in an unusual way comes from his collar, which glows when its powers are in use. With it, he can transmit thoughts out loud and manipulate matter with his mind as well; without it, his skills are limited to those of a typical housecat.
As a big fan of the classic TV show M*A*S*H, I found it curious that both McLean Stevenson and Harry Morgan are in this movie, though they rarely interact. Stevenson played the rather inept Colonel Blake on the series, while Morgan was the more efficient Colonel Potter, who replaced him several seasons in. Here, Stevenson is Frank’s buddy Link, a loafer whose addiction to gambling proves surprisingly helpful, while Morgan is the irritable General Stilton, who is trailed by a gaggle of underlings who pass instructions to each other. Stilton is in charge of the investigation into Jake’s ship, so getting past him is an obstacle, though he mostly serves as comic relief. The more potent antagonist is Mr. Olympus (William Prince), who, thanks to the efforts of weaselly freelance spy Stallwood (Roddy McDowall), has a pretty good idea of what Jake’s collar can do and will stop at nothing to harness that power himself.
This is a silly movie, no doubt about it. Like countless Disney sports comedies, it involves using dubious methods in order to secure a victory, in this case for the purposes of winning enough money to repair Jake’s ship. The government officials are ineffective, and as concerned as they are about Jake’s ship, they certainly don’t keep it very well guarded. The ending leaves some rather significant threads dangling, and some of the dialogue is just plain goofy. My favorite instance would have to be Link, having burst in on Frank in the middle of using Jake’s collar to levitate himself, plopping down on the couch and then casually asking, “Say, what were you doing up in the air?”
I knew from my experience of watching Herbie Goes to Monte Carlo with him a couple years back that my sophisticated brother would probably find plenty of reasons to pick the movie apart, and I was right, but we still had a great time watching the movie together, and his running commentary just added to the hilarity of the movie for me. The Cat from Outer Space is a madcap comedy with an A-list cast, and I happily recommend its brand of intergalactic silliness.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
A Little Kitten Causes Big Trouble in Mickey Mouse: The Kitten-Sitters
Cats can be very deceptive creatures. They spend hours curled up quietly
on the couch, and it’s hard to imagine that these placid felines will
wake you up in the middle of the night by knocking a pan off the kitchen
stove. In the classic Little Golden Book Mickey Mouse: The Kitten Sitters,
Minnie Mouse’s kitten has her fooled entirely, and she’s sure he will
be a perfect little angel for Mickey and his nephews when they agree to
watch him while she is away.
I remember reading a book with a similar storyline when I was a kid, though that one was a part of one of Disney’s home libraries and had more of a warm and fuzzy conclusion. In both stories, Pluto feels displaced by the special guest, but here, Mickey sympathizes with Pluto from the beginning. While he wants his lovable dog to be polite, he, Morty and Ferdie all notice that little Figaro has a real knack for causing trouble and can’t blame the pooch too much for being rather lacking in hospitality. Still, when the kitten disappears in the middle of the night, Mickey wastes no time in enlisting the sleepy Pluto’s aid. Can this old dog learn the new trick of locating an unruly houseguest?
This is a mostly funny story showing the disconnect between what Minnie believes and what Mickey observes. It’s interesting to see Figaro transplanted into Mickey’s world from the movie Pinocchio, though this isn’t the first time I have encountered him there. He has a scampish streak in Geppetto’s workshop too, but this book is as naughty as I’ve ever seen him. Of course, there’s also something inherently odd about a mouse having a pet cat, but Mickey and Minnie have always been more human than mouse.
This book has a rather drab color scheme that gives it a retro feel. Because most pages depict domestic disasters, most of the facial expressions on Mickey and his nephews are somewhere on the spectrum between worried and panicked. Figaro is missing in action for much of the book, with only the immediate aftermath of his activities visible, but when he appears, he looks either smug or devilishly mischievous. Minnie, meanwhile, spends a lot of time scolding others – everyone, it seems, except her precious bundle of fur. In fact, she comes across as quite obnoxious, and if Mickey seems to be happy to get a break from her nagging, it’s easy to understand why.
The story is simple but entertaining, with dialogue driving most of the action. The unnamed author uses mild repetition to good effect, such as when Mickey tells Pluto to be nice because he is a guest, prompting Morty’s later remark that he is a messy guest and Ferdie’s that he is a fussy guest. Meanwhile, Pluto’s actions help readers get inside his head as he reacts to this adorable little troublemaker.
Whether you love cats or hate them, Mickey Mouse: The Kitten-Sitters is an amusing tale acknowledging that there might be more to these purring furballs than meets the eye.
I remember reading a book with a similar storyline when I was a kid, though that one was a part of one of Disney’s home libraries and had more of a warm and fuzzy conclusion. In both stories, Pluto feels displaced by the special guest, but here, Mickey sympathizes with Pluto from the beginning. While he wants his lovable dog to be polite, he, Morty and Ferdie all notice that little Figaro has a real knack for causing trouble and can’t blame the pooch too much for being rather lacking in hospitality. Still, when the kitten disappears in the middle of the night, Mickey wastes no time in enlisting the sleepy Pluto’s aid. Can this old dog learn the new trick of locating an unruly houseguest?
This is a mostly funny story showing the disconnect between what Minnie believes and what Mickey observes. It’s interesting to see Figaro transplanted into Mickey’s world from the movie Pinocchio, though this isn’t the first time I have encountered him there. He has a scampish streak in Geppetto’s workshop too, but this book is as naughty as I’ve ever seen him. Of course, there’s also something inherently odd about a mouse having a pet cat, but Mickey and Minnie have always been more human than mouse.
This book has a rather drab color scheme that gives it a retro feel. Because most pages depict domestic disasters, most of the facial expressions on Mickey and his nephews are somewhere on the spectrum between worried and panicked. Figaro is missing in action for much of the book, with only the immediate aftermath of his activities visible, but when he appears, he looks either smug or devilishly mischievous. Minnie, meanwhile, spends a lot of time scolding others – everyone, it seems, except her precious bundle of fur. In fact, she comes across as quite obnoxious, and if Mickey seems to be happy to get a break from her nagging, it’s easy to understand why.
The story is simple but entertaining, with dialogue driving most of the action. The unnamed author uses mild repetition to good effect, such as when Mickey tells Pluto to be nice because he is a guest, prompting Morty’s later remark that he is a messy guest and Ferdie’s that he is a fussy guest. Meanwhile, Pluto’s actions help readers get inside his head as he reacts to this adorable little troublemaker.
Whether you love cats or hate them, Mickey Mouse: The Kitten-Sitters is an amusing tale acknowledging that there might be more to these purring furballs than meets the eye.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
The Weirdness of Jon Scieszka and Alice in Wonderland Mesh in This Picture Book
Disney has presented many fantastical worlds that I have longed to
enter. I’ve wanted to soar over the island of Neverland with Peter Pan
and ride a carousel horse through the countryside in Bert’s chalk
drawing, and I always thought the Hundred-Acre Wood would be a mighty
nice place to settle down. However, one place I never particularly
wanted to visit was Wonderland.
Yes, the Lewis Carroll story is richly imaginative. Yes, Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel became friends after appearing together in an elementary school adaptation of the classic. Yes, it was a major influence on LOST. However, none of that changes the fact that it Freaks. Me. Out. If I’m going to go tumbling off into a magical realm, I’d prefer one that feels a little less antagonistic.
Alice in Wonderland is a weird story. Jon Scieszka, the prolific author of such skewered tales as The True Story of the Three Little Pigs! and The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales, seems an inspired choice to retell it for the recent picture book edition of the Disney version, which is illustrated with concept art created by iconic Disney artist Mary Blair when the movie was being developed. Like the comparable editions of Cinderella and Peter Pan, this is missing a couple of characters, but the main ones are accounted for, from the big-grinned Cheshire Cat and the terrifying Queen of Hearts to the dopey Tweedledee and Tweedledum and the batty Mad Hatter.
Scieszka writes with a rambly style here, capturing Alice’s confusion and the way that her mind darts from one subject to the next. He also frequently directly addresses the reader, encouraging identification with Alice. In fact, the book begins with a question, and it’s one that I imagine countless children could answer in the affirmative: “Have you ever tried to listen to a long, boring schoolbook on a warm, lazy day?”
The look of the book is very eye-catching, with different colors serving as the backdrops for each page of text. Shades of pink, green, yellow, blue and purple alternate, sometimes with illustrations creeping toward the text, sometimes with nothing but the words on the page. Most paintings take up a full page, however, and these are very vibrant and sometimes a bit alarming. The Walrus looks downright malevolent as he marches a line of curious oysters off to their doom, and fierce flowers appear on several pages. On the other hand, the small painting of Alice and the White Rabbit standing side by side against a pale pink backdrop is thoroughly charming.
While I don’t like it quite as much as the other two picture books featuring Blair’s concept art, Alice in Wonderland certainly allows readers to feel that they have fallen into a dreamscape just like Alice, who, Scieszka notes, spends such a long time in the air during her descent through the rabbit hole that she is able to mentally do all the homework she was avoiding under the tree (though most of it is incorrect).
“You know how it is with some people,” Scieszka writes toward the end of his tale. “Sometimes they get too grown up to understand.” Alice in Wonderland is a tale about holding onto the gifts of a vivid imagination. That is a notion I can certainly get behind, even if Alice’s mind happens to be a pretty scary place.
Yes, the Lewis Carroll story is richly imaginative. Yes, Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel became friends after appearing together in an elementary school adaptation of the classic. Yes, it was a major influence on LOST. However, none of that changes the fact that it Freaks. Me. Out. If I’m going to go tumbling off into a magical realm, I’d prefer one that feels a little less antagonistic.
Alice in Wonderland is a weird story. Jon Scieszka, the prolific author of such skewered tales as The True Story of the Three Little Pigs! and The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales, seems an inspired choice to retell it for the recent picture book edition of the Disney version, which is illustrated with concept art created by iconic Disney artist Mary Blair when the movie was being developed. Like the comparable editions of Cinderella and Peter Pan, this is missing a couple of characters, but the main ones are accounted for, from the big-grinned Cheshire Cat and the terrifying Queen of Hearts to the dopey Tweedledee and Tweedledum and the batty Mad Hatter.
Scieszka writes with a rambly style here, capturing Alice’s confusion and the way that her mind darts from one subject to the next. He also frequently directly addresses the reader, encouraging identification with Alice. In fact, the book begins with a question, and it’s one that I imagine countless children could answer in the affirmative: “Have you ever tried to listen to a long, boring schoolbook on a warm, lazy day?”
The look of the book is very eye-catching, with different colors serving as the backdrops for each page of text. Shades of pink, green, yellow, blue and purple alternate, sometimes with illustrations creeping toward the text, sometimes with nothing but the words on the page. Most paintings take up a full page, however, and these are very vibrant and sometimes a bit alarming. The Walrus looks downright malevolent as he marches a line of curious oysters off to their doom, and fierce flowers appear on several pages. On the other hand, the small painting of Alice and the White Rabbit standing side by side against a pale pink backdrop is thoroughly charming.
While I don’t like it quite as much as the other two picture books featuring Blair’s concept art, Alice in Wonderland certainly allows readers to feel that they have fallen into a dreamscape just like Alice, who, Scieszka notes, spends such a long time in the air during her descent through the rabbit hole that she is able to mentally do all the homework she was avoiding under the tree (though most of it is incorrect).
“You know how it is with some people,” Scieszka writes toward the end of his tale. “Sometimes they get too grown up to understand.” Alice in Wonderland is a tale about holding onto the gifts of a vivid imagination. That is a notion I can certainly get behind, even if Alice’s mind happens to be a pretty scary place.
Monday, November 28, 2011
The Muppets: "Life's a Happy Song When There's Someone By Your Side to Sing Along"
Just about every year, it seems that there is one movie that I
anticipate above all others. While 2011 had many promising candidates –
including my beloved Winnie the Pooh and Harry Potter facing off against
each other in the middle of summer – there was one film that had me
aquiver with excitement from the time I first heard rumors of its
release. Of course, it helped that it had the cleverest, most persistent
ad campaign of any movie I can recall, expertly spoofing multiple
genres while demonstrating its ability to appeal to a broad audience.
I’m speaking, naturally, of The Muppets, the James Bobin-directed
movie that launches Kermit the Frog and all his felt friends onto the
big screen for the first time in more than a decade. While television
specials and viral videos have helped them maintain a presence in recent
years, The Muppets feels like a joyous return to the glory days of those madcap mischief-makers whose merriment brought mirth to millions.
It takes a special kind of person to get the Muppets in such a visceral way as to be able to revive them for a cynical generation. When I heard that Jason Segel was not just starring but actually co-writing the screenplay, I thought, “You know, this could be a very good thing.” While some of his recent projects have had a decidedly off-color streak, I will always recall Segel first as sweetly goofy aspiring drummer Nick Andopolis on the sadly short-lived high school dramedy Freaks and Geeks, and the endearing idealism he brought to that character seems a perfect fit for Jim Henson’s relentlessly positive creations. Together with Nicholas Stoller, he crafted a screenplay as innocent as it is exuberant – a movie that dares to demonstrate that there is room in this world for hope, togetherness and splashy musical numbers… and maybe an ill-timed explosion or two.
Segel plays Gary, a lovable grown-up kid who still shares a house with his little brother, his best friend. The brotherly affection between Gary and Walter, earnestly voiced by Peter Linz, is so genuine that it never feels weird that one is a man and one is a Muppet. In fact, it hearkens back to the peculiar brotherhood between Kermit and Fozzie Bear in The Great Muppet Caper. These are characters who have always transcended the traditional boundaries of family. Still, living in a tiny town surrounded by humans, Walter feels out of place, even with the world’s most supportive big brother looking out for him. His discovery of the Muppets as a child quickly bloomed into an obsession, a dream of a different destiny. Now, years later, Walter is childlike as ever and about to achieve a lifelong dream. But what kind of growing up will be required for him to take that all-important step?
Walter is truly the heart of the movie, a representation of those devoted fans for whom the luster of the Muppets has never dimmed. Like Kermit in The Muppet Movie, he is a dreamer in search of a connection, but because The Muppet Show pointed the way for him, he knows just where to find it. It’s a story of self-discovery, of letting go and reconnecting, and all those who ever laughed until they cried over Gonzo’s cannon-shot chickens and Fozzie’s groan-worthy jokes will understand the euphoria emblazoned on Walter’s flexible face as his heroes gradually gather for a raucous reunion.
These are the viewers who will best appreciate all of the in-jokes and the cameos from lesser-known Muppets, to say nothing of the wistfully funny situations in which the main players find themselves. The newly initiated, meanwhile, can have fun pointing out all the human celebrities, from contemporary child stars Selena Gomez and Modern Family’s Rico Rodriguez to elder statesmen Mickey Rooney and Alan Arkin. Jack Black gets more screen time than most as Animal’s disgruntled anger management sponsor, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who geeked out over the revelation of who Walter would look like if he were human.
Then, of course, a menacing Chris Cooper is the oil baron darkly commiserating with his paltry band of sycophants as the fate of the Muppet Studio Theatre hangs in balance, while Amy Adams brings her usual brand of sunshine with a spritzer of vulnerability to Mary, a hands-on teacher so beloved by her students they dread spring break but unable to secure a commitment from the man she’s dated for a decade. Like Segel, she seems a perfect fit for the Muppets’ harmonious mayhem.
Speaking of harmonies, there are some great ones in this movie that features several original songs written by Bret McKenzie, one-half of the brilliantly batty New Zealand folk-comedy duo Flight of the Conchords. His style meshes marvelously with the Muppets’ fine fusion of silliness and warmth, with the two standouts the soul-searching duet between the brothers and the lavish group number we hear at both the beginning and end of the movie. Beyond that, we get classic Muppet fare like Rainbow Connection and Mahna Mahna with a new twist or two, along with a few regular radio hits. If I’d had any lingering doubt as to whether they were going to pull this off, I would have relinquished it in sheer delight over the opening montage set to the sprightly strains of a song Paul Simon once performed on Sesame Street.
However, even before the movie started I was grinning over the Toy Story short Small Fry, which pokes fun at poorly conceived kids’ meal toys at fast food restaurants. On a trip to a medieval-themed chicken joint, Buzz Lightyear falls prey to a nefarious plot by a miniature Buzz who has languished too long in the display case. After a romp in the ball pit, Little Buzz makes his way into Bonnie’s backpack to hobnob with Woody and the gang while the real Buzz wanders into a group therapy session for discarded toys led by a militant mermaid voiced by Jane Lynch. Askew versions of beloved characters and a bunch of oddballs finding solace in each other appropriately foreshadows what’s to come in the movie proper.
More than 15 years ago, Pixar established itself as a studio capable of bringing that rare blend of sly wit and wholesome fun that, coupled with a compelling story, makes an ideal family film. The Jim Henson Company has always offered that type of entertainment, so The Muppets is truly a joy from pre-start to finish. While reflecting upon the wonders of the rainbow, a famous frog has postulated, “We know that it’s probably magic.” If we’re talking about the rainbow of marvelous misfits that make up the Muppets, there’s no “probably” about it.
It takes a special kind of person to get the Muppets in such a visceral way as to be able to revive them for a cynical generation. When I heard that Jason Segel was not just starring but actually co-writing the screenplay, I thought, “You know, this could be a very good thing.” While some of his recent projects have had a decidedly off-color streak, I will always recall Segel first as sweetly goofy aspiring drummer Nick Andopolis on the sadly short-lived high school dramedy Freaks and Geeks, and the endearing idealism he brought to that character seems a perfect fit for Jim Henson’s relentlessly positive creations. Together with Nicholas Stoller, he crafted a screenplay as innocent as it is exuberant – a movie that dares to demonstrate that there is room in this world for hope, togetherness and splashy musical numbers… and maybe an ill-timed explosion or two.
Segel plays Gary, a lovable grown-up kid who still shares a house with his little brother, his best friend. The brotherly affection between Gary and Walter, earnestly voiced by Peter Linz, is so genuine that it never feels weird that one is a man and one is a Muppet. In fact, it hearkens back to the peculiar brotherhood between Kermit and Fozzie Bear in The Great Muppet Caper. These are characters who have always transcended the traditional boundaries of family. Still, living in a tiny town surrounded by humans, Walter feels out of place, even with the world’s most supportive big brother looking out for him. His discovery of the Muppets as a child quickly bloomed into an obsession, a dream of a different destiny. Now, years later, Walter is childlike as ever and about to achieve a lifelong dream. But what kind of growing up will be required for him to take that all-important step?
Walter is truly the heart of the movie, a representation of those devoted fans for whom the luster of the Muppets has never dimmed. Like Kermit in The Muppet Movie, he is a dreamer in search of a connection, but because The Muppet Show pointed the way for him, he knows just where to find it. It’s a story of self-discovery, of letting go and reconnecting, and all those who ever laughed until they cried over Gonzo’s cannon-shot chickens and Fozzie’s groan-worthy jokes will understand the euphoria emblazoned on Walter’s flexible face as his heroes gradually gather for a raucous reunion.
These are the viewers who will best appreciate all of the in-jokes and the cameos from lesser-known Muppets, to say nothing of the wistfully funny situations in which the main players find themselves. The newly initiated, meanwhile, can have fun pointing out all the human celebrities, from contemporary child stars Selena Gomez and Modern Family’s Rico Rodriguez to elder statesmen Mickey Rooney and Alan Arkin. Jack Black gets more screen time than most as Animal’s disgruntled anger management sponsor, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who geeked out over the revelation of who Walter would look like if he were human.
Then, of course, a menacing Chris Cooper is the oil baron darkly commiserating with his paltry band of sycophants as the fate of the Muppet Studio Theatre hangs in balance, while Amy Adams brings her usual brand of sunshine with a spritzer of vulnerability to Mary, a hands-on teacher so beloved by her students they dread spring break but unable to secure a commitment from the man she’s dated for a decade. Like Segel, she seems a perfect fit for the Muppets’ harmonious mayhem.
Speaking of harmonies, there are some great ones in this movie that features several original songs written by Bret McKenzie, one-half of the brilliantly batty New Zealand folk-comedy duo Flight of the Conchords. His style meshes marvelously with the Muppets’ fine fusion of silliness and warmth, with the two standouts the soul-searching duet between the brothers and the lavish group number we hear at both the beginning and end of the movie. Beyond that, we get classic Muppet fare like Rainbow Connection and Mahna Mahna with a new twist or two, along with a few regular radio hits. If I’d had any lingering doubt as to whether they were going to pull this off, I would have relinquished it in sheer delight over the opening montage set to the sprightly strains of a song Paul Simon once performed on Sesame Street.
However, even before the movie started I was grinning over the Toy Story short Small Fry, which pokes fun at poorly conceived kids’ meal toys at fast food restaurants. On a trip to a medieval-themed chicken joint, Buzz Lightyear falls prey to a nefarious plot by a miniature Buzz who has languished too long in the display case. After a romp in the ball pit, Little Buzz makes his way into Bonnie’s backpack to hobnob with Woody and the gang while the real Buzz wanders into a group therapy session for discarded toys led by a militant mermaid voiced by Jane Lynch. Askew versions of beloved characters and a bunch of oddballs finding solace in each other appropriately foreshadows what’s to come in the movie proper.
More than 15 years ago, Pixar established itself as a studio capable of bringing that rare blend of sly wit and wholesome fun that, coupled with a compelling story, makes an ideal family film. The Jim Henson Company has always offered that type of entertainment, so The Muppets is truly a joy from pre-start to finish. While reflecting upon the wonders of the rainbow, a famous frog has postulated, “We know that it’s probably magic.” If we’re talking about the rainbow of marvelous misfits that make up the Muppets, there’s no “probably” about it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)