goldberry-90-44341
Joined Aug 2014
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goldberry-90-44341's rating
If there's anything that can be said about this film, it's that it's by far Pixar's most emotional movie to date. Hehehehe...sorry, couldn't resist. But really, I spent an alarming amount of time with a lump in my throat. However, while Pixar's latest film is a fascinating thought experiment, it definitely has its flaws.
It's a little bit difficult to decide whether the emotion lies in the movie or in the memories it evokes. I'd imagine it's a completely different experience for a child viewer, a teenager, or a parent, but I suspect the last two appreciate its full weight far more than young children would. It's not that kids won't like the film: to the contrary, it feels like it's designed for younger viewers, unlike Ratatouille or The Incredibles (my two favorite Pixar films.) It's merely that this story is more about the loss of childhood than the celebration of it. This bittersweet feel is similar to that in Toy Story 3.
The story is about Riley, an eleven-year-old whose young life has been blissfully happy up until the day her family moves from Minnesota to San Francisco. She had tons of friends, doting parents, a successful hockey career, a never-ending chain of happy memories, symbolized by glowing marbles.
These memories are fashioned by her five emotions: Joy (an enthusiastic Amy Poehler), Sadness (Phyllis Smith), Disgust (Mindy Kaling), Fear (Bill Hader), and Anger (Lewis Black.) Up until this point, Joy has had complete control, but glimpses into the minds of Riley's parents - where Sadness and Anger are the primary fueling emotions - foreshadow that things may be about to change. Joy recognizes the place of Fear, Disgust, and Anger - they keep Riley safe. But Sadness, that most adult of emotions, seems to have no function whatsoever. In a more typical movie, Sadness would have been cast as the villain. But this isn't a typical movie.
Once Riley arrives in San Francisco, all of her happiness comes into question. We follow her through the events of the move, her first day at school and trying out for the hockey team. Inside of her head, something has gone terribly wrong, and the emotions have to work double time to get things right. It's clever how the movie uses the emotions - you can almost fool yourself into thinking that what happens to Riley is a consequence of what they do, but in the end, you know that they are an allegory for her mind, not the other way around. But the emotions don't know what the viewer knows must happen: they expect childhood to continue forever, and memories to remain simply happy or sad or angry or fearful or disgusting.
The rest of the movie takes place over the space of a few days, as Riley's emotional life crumbles and she has to redefine herself. Looking back, the whole thing is not all that huge a crisis, but it's magnified by the drama of her emotions. It reminds me of Lord of the Flies (bear with me) in that the film does a great job of getting us into a child's head. It's surprising to look back and, like returning to a childhood home as an adult, realize how small everything was, after all.
Childhood is a complicated thing. We see Riley's happiness, but also her immaturity. In the end - and here's kind of a spoiler - the resolution comes through growing up, not embracing childhood. Sadness can lead us just as sensibly as Joy, and perhaps even the other emotions - in their proper place - have a role in engaging the world wisely. Being happy isn't the most important thing.
I'm not as impressed with the film as some. It's good, but not amazing. I wasn't a huge fan of the over-colorful milieu it embraces in its Inside sequences - it felt too much like other bright children's films I've seen, and lessened the impact of the dark Outside. I didn't find the idea as original as other did, either (I'll admit, I was thinking of Osmosis Jones, a film which is probably really terrible, but the last time I saw it I was six.)
There was too much of a focus on preschool imagery for an eleven-year- old - by that age I was obsessed with dragons and pirates, rather than clowns and pink elephants. Because one could see the direction of the allegory, the story could be predictable, and I could foretell events some time before they actually happened.
On the other hand, Inside Out has tons of strengths. It's the most original Pixar film since Up, and Riley's family is the best Pixar family since The Incredibles. The emotions are terrifically voiced and animated - my personal favorite is Phyllis Smith's sullen, melodramatic Sadness, but Poehler is wonderful as ebullient Joy. They're Pixar's first female duo - follow-ups to Mike and Sully and Buzz and Woody.
The filmmakers have a ton of fun with Riley's mind - I especially loved the dream sets, sub-conscious, and Imaginary Boyfriend. It's really very funny - at moments, I defied the silent theater to guffaw uproariously at subtle jokes. (Or the not-subtle ones: "GIRL - GIRL - GIRL.")
Ultimately, I think the biggest compliment I can give to the movie is that (no pun intended) it got inside my head. I'm still young enough to vividly remember the confused emotions and insecurity of adolescence. These days, I often have opportunities to reflect on what my sixteen-year-old self would make of the things I'm doing now. Watching old family videos with horror just last week, I realized I have almost nothing in common with eleven-year-old Hannah. And what a complete idiot she was. And how happy she was in her idiocy! Dangit, Pixar. Inside Out is going to keep me thinking about those things for some time to come.
Originally posted here: http://goo.gl/0URBvh
It's a little bit difficult to decide whether the emotion lies in the movie or in the memories it evokes. I'd imagine it's a completely different experience for a child viewer, a teenager, or a parent, but I suspect the last two appreciate its full weight far more than young children would. It's not that kids won't like the film: to the contrary, it feels like it's designed for younger viewers, unlike Ratatouille or The Incredibles (my two favorite Pixar films.) It's merely that this story is more about the loss of childhood than the celebration of it. This bittersweet feel is similar to that in Toy Story 3.
The story is about Riley, an eleven-year-old whose young life has been blissfully happy up until the day her family moves from Minnesota to San Francisco. She had tons of friends, doting parents, a successful hockey career, a never-ending chain of happy memories, symbolized by glowing marbles.
These memories are fashioned by her five emotions: Joy (an enthusiastic Amy Poehler), Sadness (Phyllis Smith), Disgust (Mindy Kaling), Fear (Bill Hader), and Anger (Lewis Black.) Up until this point, Joy has had complete control, but glimpses into the minds of Riley's parents - where Sadness and Anger are the primary fueling emotions - foreshadow that things may be about to change. Joy recognizes the place of Fear, Disgust, and Anger - they keep Riley safe. But Sadness, that most adult of emotions, seems to have no function whatsoever. In a more typical movie, Sadness would have been cast as the villain. But this isn't a typical movie.
Once Riley arrives in San Francisco, all of her happiness comes into question. We follow her through the events of the move, her first day at school and trying out for the hockey team. Inside of her head, something has gone terribly wrong, and the emotions have to work double time to get things right. It's clever how the movie uses the emotions - you can almost fool yourself into thinking that what happens to Riley is a consequence of what they do, but in the end, you know that they are an allegory for her mind, not the other way around. But the emotions don't know what the viewer knows must happen: they expect childhood to continue forever, and memories to remain simply happy or sad or angry or fearful or disgusting.
The rest of the movie takes place over the space of a few days, as Riley's emotional life crumbles and she has to redefine herself. Looking back, the whole thing is not all that huge a crisis, but it's magnified by the drama of her emotions. It reminds me of Lord of the Flies (bear with me) in that the film does a great job of getting us into a child's head. It's surprising to look back and, like returning to a childhood home as an adult, realize how small everything was, after all.
Childhood is a complicated thing. We see Riley's happiness, but also her immaturity. In the end - and here's kind of a spoiler - the resolution comes through growing up, not embracing childhood. Sadness can lead us just as sensibly as Joy, and perhaps even the other emotions - in their proper place - have a role in engaging the world wisely. Being happy isn't the most important thing.
I'm not as impressed with the film as some. It's good, but not amazing. I wasn't a huge fan of the over-colorful milieu it embraces in its Inside sequences - it felt too much like other bright children's films I've seen, and lessened the impact of the dark Outside. I didn't find the idea as original as other did, either (I'll admit, I was thinking of Osmosis Jones, a film which is probably really terrible, but the last time I saw it I was six.)
There was too much of a focus on preschool imagery for an eleven-year- old - by that age I was obsessed with dragons and pirates, rather than clowns and pink elephants. Because one could see the direction of the allegory, the story could be predictable, and I could foretell events some time before they actually happened.
On the other hand, Inside Out has tons of strengths. It's the most original Pixar film since Up, and Riley's family is the best Pixar family since The Incredibles. The emotions are terrifically voiced and animated - my personal favorite is Phyllis Smith's sullen, melodramatic Sadness, but Poehler is wonderful as ebullient Joy. They're Pixar's first female duo - follow-ups to Mike and Sully and Buzz and Woody.
The filmmakers have a ton of fun with Riley's mind - I especially loved the dream sets, sub-conscious, and Imaginary Boyfriend. It's really very funny - at moments, I defied the silent theater to guffaw uproariously at subtle jokes. (Or the not-subtle ones: "GIRL - GIRL - GIRL.")
Ultimately, I think the biggest compliment I can give to the movie is that (no pun intended) it got inside my head. I'm still young enough to vividly remember the confused emotions and insecurity of adolescence. These days, I often have opportunities to reflect on what my sixteen-year-old self would make of the things I'm doing now. Watching old family videos with horror just last week, I realized I have almost nothing in common with eleven-year-old Hannah. And what a complete idiot she was. And how happy she was in her idiocy! Dangit, Pixar. Inside Out is going to keep me thinking about those things for some time to come.
Originally posted here: http://goo.gl/0URBvh
"Jonathan Strange, you drive me crazy" ~Jonathan Strange
Episode six opens with both Norrell and Strange mourning losses. Norrell's regret is rather less flamboyant. Though his refusal to help Strange save Arabella created yet another bone of contention between them (a collection which amounted to two or three whole skeletons already), he honestly does miss his erstwhile pupil. He sits quietly in his dark green rooms and sadly contemplates Jonathan Strange's new book.
On the other hand, Norrell's distress may come from the necessity to magic away so many beautiful volumes, because for the rest of the episode, he's pretty ruthless. The way he threatens Drawlight in order to make the dilapidated shyster find Jonathan Strange was positively Michael Corleonesque: "I can conjure terrors, sir, of which your mind cannot conceive. Find Mr Strange and stay with Mr Strange."
Yeah, this whole magic thing may be getting a bit out of hand.
Other things getting out of hand: Jonathan Strange. He's popped up in Italy, where he's being a very poor tourist (his room has no view), shutting himself up inside and doing everything he can to drive himself mad. He already looks the part, being, indeed, sadly altered. It takes the help of an effervescent young lady, Flora Greysteel, to direct him to true madness. He does this by turning an old woman into a cat, in exchange for her aid in the art of insanity. Whereupon, he eats a mouse and goes mad. (I am just glorying in these ridiculous sentences). This allows him to finally contact the Gentleman, who plays it cool while he's with Strange, and then rushes to Stephen Black and freaks out. Something must be done.
And he does it, though not without cost to himself. The Gentleman imprisons Jonathan in a pillar of darkness which saps the magician's strength and terrifies half of Europe.
Before all this can be accomplished, Strange makes more headway into Faerie than anyone until now. He not only bargains away Lady Pole's finger from the Gentleman, but breaks into Lost-Hope and sees Arabella. Realizing your wife is the abductee of a creepy fairy and has been made to forget you can't be all that heartening a revelation, but coming right on the heels of Jonathan's agonizing despair, this is terrific news!
Jonathan - before utterly defeated - is given courage to fight back against even the worst of the Gentleman's enchantments (I do hope Bertie Carvel watched some funny movies while filming this episode, because he completely sells Strange's hopelessness and bitter ).
Back in the real world, Stephen Black has imprisoned Vinculus at the Segundus-Honeyfoot Asylum. But unlike crazy Lady Pole, there's something about Vinculus that makes Stephen listen. Possibly, it's the Oprah-like promises of a kingdom ("And you get a kingdom! And you get a kingdom! Everybody gets a kingdom!"), but by the end of the episode, all Stephen's hopes of freedom and empowerment are dashed.
I had grown rather tired of Stephen's passiveness and indifference towards Lady Pole's suffering. His eloquent polemic against his seemingly inescapable destiny - written on his skin - hinted at hidden nobility which made for a welcome change. And was it just me, or did this waterside scene have echoes of the Lady of the Lake and Arthur?
But that didn't work out. Oh well. After all, strange men lying in ponds distributing tattooed prophecies is no basis for a system of government.
Elsewhere, it seems all hope is lost.
Or is it?
Originally posted here: http://www.longish95.blogspot.com/2015/06/jonathan-strange-and-mr- norrell-episode_21.html
Episode six opens with both Norrell and Strange mourning losses. Norrell's regret is rather less flamboyant. Though his refusal to help Strange save Arabella created yet another bone of contention between them (a collection which amounted to two or three whole skeletons already), he honestly does miss his erstwhile pupil. He sits quietly in his dark green rooms and sadly contemplates Jonathan Strange's new book.
On the other hand, Norrell's distress may come from the necessity to magic away so many beautiful volumes, because for the rest of the episode, he's pretty ruthless. The way he threatens Drawlight in order to make the dilapidated shyster find Jonathan Strange was positively Michael Corleonesque: "I can conjure terrors, sir, of which your mind cannot conceive. Find Mr Strange and stay with Mr Strange."
Yeah, this whole magic thing may be getting a bit out of hand.
Other things getting out of hand: Jonathan Strange. He's popped up in Italy, where he's being a very poor tourist (his room has no view), shutting himself up inside and doing everything he can to drive himself mad. He already looks the part, being, indeed, sadly altered. It takes the help of an effervescent young lady, Flora Greysteel, to direct him to true madness. He does this by turning an old woman into a cat, in exchange for her aid in the art of insanity. Whereupon, he eats a mouse and goes mad. (I am just glorying in these ridiculous sentences). This allows him to finally contact the Gentleman, who plays it cool while he's with Strange, and then rushes to Stephen Black and freaks out. Something must be done.
And he does it, though not without cost to himself. The Gentleman imprisons Jonathan in a pillar of darkness which saps the magician's strength and terrifies half of Europe.
Before all this can be accomplished, Strange makes more headway into Faerie than anyone until now. He not only bargains away Lady Pole's finger from the Gentleman, but breaks into Lost-Hope and sees Arabella. Realizing your wife is the abductee of a creepy fairy and has been made to forget you can't be all that heartening a revelation, but coming right on the heels of Jonathan's agonizing despair, this is terrific news!
Jonathan - before utterly defeated - is given courage to fight back against even the worst of the Gentleman's enchantments (I do hope Bertie Carvel watched some funny movies while filming this episode, because he completely sells Strange's hopelessness and bitter ).
Back in the real world, Stephen Black has imprisoned Vinculus at the Segundus-Honeyfoot Asylum. But unlike crazy Lady Pole, there's something about Vinculus that makes Stephen listen. Possibly, it's the Oprah-like promises of a kingdom ("And you get a kingdom! And you get a kingdom! Everybody gets a kingdom!"), but by the end of the episode, all Stephen's hopes of freedom and empowerment are dashed.
I had grown rather tired of Stephen's passiveness and indifference towards Lady Pole's suffering. His eloquent polemic against his seemingly inescapable destiny - written on his skin - hinted at hidden nobility which made for a welcome change. And was it just me, or did this waterside scene have echoes of the Lady of the Lake and Arthur?
But that didn't work out. Oh well. After all, strange men lying in ponds distributing tattooed prophecies is no basis for a system of government.
Elsewhere, it seems all hope is lost.
Or is it?
Originally posted here: http://www.longish95.blogspot.com/2015/06/jonathan-strange-and-mr- norrell-episode_21.html