Remembering Robin Williams

By Matt Giles

It goes without saying that Robin Williams made all of us laugh. For some it was his starring role in “Mork & Mindy,” for others it was as the Genie in “Aladdin.” And then there was everything in between, from his dramatic roles in films like “Dead Poets Society,” and “Awakenings,” to more disturbing parts in films like “Insomnia” and “One Hour Photo.” What was always clear was his immeasurable talent and charm, as well as his kindness. For those of you who haven’t seen all of the media coverage about Williams – especially as it relates to Detroit Public Television – we’ve added a whole page dedicated to him called Remembering Robin Williams.

There, you can see his appearances on various PBS specials and you can also find links to mental heath resources. Williams was also remembered on Monday’s episode of Charlie Rose. PBS NewsHour also had a segment that featured my favorite film critic, A.O. Scott of The New York Times, and Budd Friedman, founder of Improv Comedy Club. For the young ones, WNYC tweeted a link to 30 years of Robin Williams appearances on Sesame Street, which is pretty cool: bit.ly/1oHLtBF

While we mourn the loss of one of our most beloved actors, it is very clear in all of the clips above that we should celebrate his life and the gift of laughter he brought to so many. For me, “Hook” will always be my favorite because I saw it at such a young age and loved the performance Williams gave as an older Peter Pan. The best scene comes when Peter finally remembers his happy thought and is able to fly, fight, and crow once more. Bangarang, Robin. Bangarang.

Rise Of The Guardians ★

Seeing Isn't Believing

Written by Matt Giles
Edited by Erin Accomando

A large amount of the joy I receive from the best of animated features comes from the fact that they all manage to bring something human to a story that, to the naked eye, seems like it's from a different world all together. Most recently, Wreck-It Ralph was set in the world of video games, yet anyone who saw the film probably recognized a version of themselves or someone they knew in at least one character. It's the heart of films like that and many others that make us love the possibilities animation offers. The worst in animation however, trades heart for technology, a fault that the new film Rise Of The Guardians has in spades.

The problem with Guardians is that it's all visual spectacle and very little story. Director Peter Ramsey seems like he's only interested in the freedom animation offers, delivering sweeping shots over rooftops during the film's many, many action sequences, and never allowing the camera to stay stationary for a moment's breath. What little story there is involves Jack Frost (Chris Pine) being chosen to help the other Guardians - North (Alec Baldwin), Bunnymund (Hugh Jackman), Tooth (Isla Fisher) and Sandy, or, as they're all more commonly known, Santa, The Easter Bunny, The Tooth Fairy and Sandman - defend themselves against Pitch, otherwise known as The Boogeyman who's voiced by Jude Law. Pitch has found a way to bring terror and nightmares back into the minds of children, growing more powerful with every success. His goal is to rob children of their belief in all of these characters thereby taking away the Guardians' power and being free to corrupt the world.

It's an easy enough plot to get behind and not much more than that. Sure, they throw in Jack's identity crisis (he can't remember who he was before he became Jack Frost) and forcibly try to make his story the one we're interested in, but he's the weakest character of the bunch. And by weak, I mean both in character development and animation. One could argue that it was the animators' point to make Jack so inhuman, as he's not even believed in by any of the children, but the animation is so lifeless that it just looks lazy. Whereas the other characters in the story, particularly North, have such grandiose features it's a shame they were not part of a better movie.

What Rise Of The Guardians ends up feeling like is the collision of too many ideas that do not fit together at all. I get that each of the Guardians come from different worlds and therefore need their own distinct look, but it seems as though attention and favoritism was paid to the characters the filmmaker's felt they could have the most fun with, in this case, North. His design and features look gorgeous, and the detail of the North Pole is different than most are used to seeing - one amusing difference is that Yetis make the toys, not the elves because well, they're not right in the head. Pitch meanwhile looks like something out of the art-deco era (which I actually didn't mind, except for the fact that it doesn't work within the film) and Bunnymund just looks like a standard Rabbit.

I don't think Ramsey was the best choice of a director for a movie like this (it's also his first feature) mainly due to the fact that Guardians seems directionless. There are simply too many separate ideas about the animation going on for the story to function well. The designs for all of the characters are so separate that they don't work in the same movie. I feel especially bad for Jack Frost, given that the premise is supposed to be all about him, yet Ramsey and Co. seem awfully uninterested in him. It's no wonder the children don't believe in him; the filmmakers don't either.

Wreck-It Ralph ★★★★

A Lovable Animated Character of the 8-bit Kind

Written by Matt Giles
Edited by Erin Accomando

Growing up, my console of choice was Sega Genesis and the game I spent countless hours trying to conquer was Sonic the Hedgehog. Sonic and I were a great team until, of course, I accidentally made him jump onto a row of spikes or bash into a badnik, at which point we would start the level over. Eventually we would reach the third act of a level and be forced to defeat the maniacal Dr. Robotnik, thereby saving the helpless animals he had trapped in machines. I watched Robotnik explode thousands of times, never thinking that Robotnik may have grown tired of always being the bad guy and never getting the spotlight Sonic did. I should have been more considerate.

The writers of Wreck-It Ralph obviously had these concerns in mind while growing up, as this charming film is all about the existential crisis of Ralph (John C. Reilly), the title character and villain to a video game called Fix-It Felix, Jr., wherein Ralph breaks down buildings that Felix (Jack McBrayer) must repair in order to win the game. It's now the thirtieth anniversary of the game's release, and Ralph has had enough of the lonely life his role offers him. He wants to be the hero everyone roots for as opposed to the lug that other characters are afraid of. He's even in a villain support group (which includes Dr. Robotnik) because of his dilemma.

When Ralph decides he's had enough, he determines that the best way to be seen as a hero is to win a medal from one of the other arcade games. The game of his choice, as fate would have it, is a first-person shooter game called Hero's Duty, which involves destroying thousands of alien bugs. Things don't go as planned, and, by way of escape pod, Ralph lands in an entirely different game known as Sugar Rush, a racing game whose landscape is made up of so much candy and chocolate that I may have a cavity just from having seen this movie. From this point on, Ralph is on a quest for his medal, which is now lost in the abyss of Sugar Rush, while also trying to prove his heroism by helping out a glitch in Sugar Rush named Vanellope von Schweetz (Sarah Silverman), a 12-year-old who, like Ralph, is frowned upon for being different. Those differences are precisely what make these characters and the film itself so special.

At times, the idea of embracing one's uniqueness borders on being "too Disney" for older audiences like myself. But happily, Wreck-It Ralph has such a refreshing style and look about it that I found myself forgiving its hammer-over-the-head message and loving it for all that it is. That is, a film that has as much charm, joy and laughter as everything great that Pixar has ever created (Up, Toy Story 3, Finding Nemo, to name a few) and then some.

Part of that comes from the approach the filmmakers chose, which was making the world of a video games and the characters that inhabit them something to be taken seriously, but not too seriously. The screenplay by Phil Johnston and Jennifer Lee is so obviously personal that there's no way audiences can't relate to the material in some way. The director, Rich Moore, whose credits include episodes of The Simpsons and Futurama, understands comedy and uses that knowledge to the film's advantage. Any other director may have gone too far in one direction, but thankfully, Moore is the perfect choice to bring these characters to life.

Inhabiting those characters, in addition to Reilly, Silverman and McBrayer are Jane Lynch as Sergeant Tamora Jean Calhoun, the leader of the characters in Hero's Duty and the object of Felix's desires, and Alan Tudyk, hilarious and incredibly creepy as King Candy, the leader and true villain of the movie. Each of these actors are cast perfectly, bringing something truly human to each of their characters, enlivening the comedy in every scene they are in.

In addition to the characters themselves, the animation is top-notch. Both the 8-bit and modern animation work perfectly together making the film feel nostalgic but also of its time. The colors are extremely vivid, especially in Sugar Rush, while the darker tones of Hero's Duty make it feel like you're actually in an Alien movie. Fix-It Felix, Jr., meanwhile, reminds me of another one of my favorite games, Rampage, in which monsters destroy dozens of city buildings.

Wreck-It Ralph is one of the surprising delights of the year and one audiences of all ages can enjoy. It also includes an animated short feature called Paperman, a brilliant, dialogue-free movie about a man who uses paper planes to get the attention of a woman he saw for only a moment on the morning train. It's a beautiful story, and one that works perfectly with Wreck-It Ralph's themes.

I think it's time that I play one of the Sonic games again, albeit with more consideration for Dr. Robotnik's feelings of being blown up by a hedgehog.

The Dark Knight Rises ★★

Proving Why The Third Time Is Not Always The Charm

Written by Matt Giles
Edited by Erin Accomando

Of all of the directors making movies these days, I have to say that Christopher Nolan would easily make the cut on a list of my favorite filmmakers. The stunts and effects he achieves so effortlessly within the camera, his focus on story, and his dedication to using film (as opposed to digital) prove why he is one of the last great directors of what now seems like a bygone era. He's a true original, which is why it pains me to say that his latest endeavor, The Dark Knight Rises, is the first film of his that doesn't seem to meet his own standards.

Everything I love about Nolan seems like it's missing from The Dark Knight Rises, the most obvious of which is his attention to plot detail. There are too many characters and too much happening all at once, the result of which is every single arc being under-developed. Eight years have passed since the last sighting of the caped crusader, and we see a more aged, broken and lonely Bruce Wayne (Christian Bale), a concept that I very much enjoyed, at least in the beginning. Wayne has become a hermit; a shell of a man without his alter ego. He only speaks with Alfred (Michael Caine, who does his best work by far in the series); mourns the death of his one true love, Rachel Dawes (Maggie Gyllenhaal); and, because dressing up like a bat and jumping off of rooftops would (we assume) cause bodily harm after a while, walks with a cane and has no cartilage left in his joints.

I love the idea of exploring a man who sees himself as nothing unless he becomes someone else; a man who sees no other future than protecting the people of Gotham. It seems like this is where the film is going until Wayne realizes Batman is once again needed. Quite conveniently, he straps a high-tech knee brace to his leg allowing him to walk, and the idea that he can no longer do what he once did is quickly abandoned. Sure, he fights Bane (Tom Hardy) and loses round one, but it's nothing a few sit-ups and some wall-climbing can't fix.

In addition, our other favorite characters don't seem to have a lot to do in the film, so much so that they are offscreen for much of the 165-minute running-time. Alfred leaves early on in the film; Commissioner Gordon (Gary Oldman) is incapacitated until roughly the midpoint; Lucius Fox (Morgan Freeman) is given a minimum amount to do; and the new characters (for the most part) feel out of place. Yes, Anne Hathaway is good as Selina Kyle (Catwoman), but I disagree with those who say Catwoman fits into Nolan's Batman universe. As a love interest for Wayne and a sort-of-sidekick to Batman, I guess Nolan felt it should be this character, but throughout the film I kept asking myself, "Why is Catwoman in this movie?" Joseph Gordon-Levitt does an admirable job in the role of John Blake, an idealistic rookie-cop who exists as a reflection on Gordon, but again, he doesn't seem essential to the story (fans may unite in hating me given the way this film ends).

Perhaps the two major blunders are Bane and Miranda Tate (Marion Cotillard), but for very separate reasons. First, let's deal with Bane.

Many critics have cited Heath Ledger's performance in 2008's The Dark Knight as a detriment to this film because it was so brilliant, so inescapably dark, that it was next to impossible to top. The only choice (it would seem) that Nolan had in deciding to conclude the series would be to take the story in a different direction. Nolan's decision to introduce Bane - a less charismatic, more-of-a-brute villain - seemed to emphasize the fact that this was indeed a new path for the series. Instead, Bane shows up with the exact same intention as the previous villains: to destroy Gotham. While there are some impressive explosions and a lot of production value, it still just ends up feeling like a lesser version of the first two films. Bane has nowhere near the screen-presence that Joker had, and while he is an entirely different character, the main villain in any story needs to have some kind of presence. He's all muscle and yes, a bit imposing, but I felt none of the dread that I did with Joker, or even Liam Neeson's Ra's al Ghul in Batman Begins. Furthermore, the fight scenes between Bane and Batman are somehow quite dull. Tom Hardy is a big guy, especially in this film, yet I felt like I was watching a bad version of a wrestling match. The fights between Ra's al Ghul and Batman in Begins were more engaging than in The Dark Knight Rises. Oh and did I mention that it's near impossible to understand most of what Bane says, even with his dialogue noticeably boosted in his scenes?

Secondly, there's Miranda Tate, who barely gets any screen-time and is, like several other characters, unnecessary for everything other than existing as a connection to Batman Begins. She has a love scene with Wayne that is both random and unbelievable in the context of the story. She also has the means to save Wayne's dying company, but that's glossed over and ignored for most of the film.

What ultimately works in the film comes in small doses: Caine shines in his scenes with Bale and you find yourself wishing there were more of them; the visual effects and cinematography are breathtaking but they end up being underscored by the awful sound mix; the early scenes that emphasize an older Bruce Wayne emphasize where the film could have gone; and finally, the conclusion. Despite its many missteps, the third act of The Dark Knight Rises is where everything starts working better than the rest of the film, and the way Nolan chooses to end his series left me feeling reasonably satisfied.

Sadly, Nolan's film as a whole does not sustain the magic of both the early scenes with Wayne and the final moments before the credits roll. What we're left with is a marginally entertaining movie and by far the weakest effort in Nolan's trilogy.

Moonrise Kingdom ★★★★

Wes Anderson's Beautifully Told Story About Young Love In His Imagined World

Written by Matt Giles
Edited by Erin Accomando

The auteur theory states that the director of a film is the primary creative force behind the scenes. Every film made by a particular director further reflects that director's own personality and style. This theory has long been debated and studied, but no matter which side of the argument you fall on, it's hard to disagree that Moonrise Kingdom, the latest film from director Wes Anderson, is anything but a look into the beautiful imagination (Being John Malkovich style) of Anderson himself.

I'll admit that as of this writing, I have only seen three of Anderson's films (I won't say which) and of those three, Moonrise Kingdom feels like the film Anderson was meant to make and maybe the one he's been striving to make since his career began. It doesn't feel like style without substance, nor does it feel autobiographical; rather, it's the perfect marriage of story and storyteller. In a recent interview on Fresh Air from NPR, Anderson said that his previous films had no justification for having items like a record player on screen, other than the fact that Anderson likes how they look on camera. Moonrise Kingdom, however, is set in 1965 and thus allows Anderson to place said items in the frame without having to feel guilty about it. It's in that sense that his other films feel like practice for this one; some may have gotten more elements right than others, but from what I've read and from the one's I have seen, they seemed like the struggles of a director trying to hit that perfect blend of style and story. Moonrise Kingdom is his major achievement.

The film's central focus is a pair of star-crossed lovers, Sam (Jared Gilman) and Suzy (Kara Hayward),  two twelve-year-olds who have decided to run away (Sam because of being passed around from foster home to foster home, Suzy because of her home life, which is anything but perfect) despite having nowhere but the fictional island they live on (called New Penzance) to go. They decide to create their own paradise where no adults can find them and they can live happily ever after, as the outcast "troubled children" that they are. It's in the portrayal of this young love, and virtually everything else down to the font in the credits, that we see Anderson's persona truly reflected.

These are two children who long for adulthood and want to be taken seriously. The love and admiration they share for one another feels like more of a bond of common isolation than the traditional love we're used to seeing onscreen. Because of that, some criticisms I've heard - and partially agree with - are directed at Gilman and Hayward for their lack of understanding Anderson's style of dialogue and their inability to make the love they share believable. While this is a fair criticism, I feel that it's based on judging Moonrise Kingdom as a typical love story, rather than a fable straight out of Anderson's head. Looking at the romance as one more signature trait of Anderson's auteurism, it becomes clear that the love these two twelve-year-olds share is the kind of love that Anderson himself believes in, which may not be for everyone. I happen to be one of the critics completely swept away by it and thus view it as one of the best elements in Anderson's masterpiece.

The other story in the film involves the adults looking for the missing children. There are Suzy's parents, played by seasoned Anderson veteran Bill Murray and Anderson-newcomer Frances McDormand, two attorneys whose love for one another seems to have faded years ago; Sam's "Khaki Scout" leader played perfectly by Edward Norton (he strikes just the right amount of goofiness and sentimentality); Sam's fellow Khaki Scouts themselves, who quite comically have their own ideas about how to retrieve Sam; and most unexpectedly, but completely welcome in an unconventional role, Bruce Willis as the island's only police officer, Captain Sharp, (with whom McDormand's character is having an affair). While these characters are all searching for the children, we're warned of a looming hurricane and given background on New Penzance (for instance, there are no paved roads on the island) by a narrator, played humorously by Bob Balaban, sporting the signature Steve Zissou hat and delivering every line of dialogue with just the right amount of deadpan.

It's evident that the love between Sam and Suzy, the adult characters, the color palette of the island itself, and the necessary exposition explained by a narrator are all ways in which Anderson must view the world, or at least the way he saw the world when he was twelve-years-old. While many elements of the story echo what may have happened to Anderson as a boy, the film feels like a genuine creation; an imagined representation of what childhood was like for Anderson, rather than a telling of his tale. It's for that reason and many others that Moonrise Kingdom hits the emotional chord it does and is, to date,  Wes Anderson's pièce de résistance.