The Screengrab : finding nemo

Precursors: Monsters, Inc. (2001)

Nick Schager — Tue, 26 May 2009 14:30:00 GMT

Pete Docter will likely be showered with praise come Friday, when his newest film Up – my review appears later this morning – arrives in theaters. Yet the director also deserves kudos for his feature debut, Monsters, Inc., which despite being a financial and critical success upon its release in 2001, seems to have become something of a forgotten member of the illustrious Pixar club. It’s an undeserved fate, given the pitch-perfect blend of sweetness and wise-cracking comedy delivered by this tale of two monsters, shaggy blue Sully (voiced by John Goodman) and one-eyed Mike Wazowski (Billy Crystal), whose lives harvesting human children’s screams for Monster’s Inc. – screams being the energy source that powers all of Monstropolis – are thrown for a loop when a young girl, affectionately dubbed “Boo” and thought by Mike and Sully to be, like all kids, toxic, crosses over into their world. Envisioning monsters as a humorous species who frighten tykes for a living is cute. Yet what sets Monsters, Inc. apart is the execution of its set-up, with Docter (working from a script co-written by Finding Nemo and WALL-E helmer Andrew Stanton) generating squish-free pathos by keeping the focus on his leads’ interpersonal dynamics – a rapport enlivened by Crystal’s expert vocal performance, and superb Abbot-and-Costello-ish chemistry with Goodman – while also spiking his material with the sharp, rat-a-tat-tat, anything-goes wit of a stand-up routine.

Wall Street's Concern: Can Pixar Keep Falling "Up"?

Phil Nugent — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 20:15:00 GMT

Pixar Animation Studios has sort of a funny relationship to its parent company, Disney: in terms of artistic and critical repute, its the company's prestige boutique line, yet it's also one of Disney's greatest cash cows. Last year's WALL-E was the fourth of Pixar's nine animated features to win the Academy Award, an achievement that is even more impressive when you consider that Pixar's first three features were made before the Academy bothered to create a category for Best Animated Feature. But last month, Richard Greenfield of Pali Research came up with an unusual way of celebrating the impending (May 29) release of the tenth Pixar feature, Up: he downgraded the company's stock. As Brooks Barnes reports in The New York Times, this was part of an overall expression of concern from "two important business camps — Wall Street and toy retailers" - about the commercial prospects of Up. The movie, which was directed by Pete Docter and Bob Peterson, and is to be released in 3-D, is about a 78-year-old man (voiced by Ed Asner) who, widowed and threatened with being moved to an assisted living facility, sets out for South America in a flying house powered by balloons, with an eight-year-old stowaway in tow. The naysayers fear that young audiences will find the aged protagonist and the lack of a prominent female character a turn-off. And the businessmen are expressing their lack of faith in the movie in a way that other moviemakers with strong critical reputations, such as Martin Scorsese, don't have to sit up nights worrying about: they're not lining up to produce lines of toys based on the film. "Thinkway Toys, which has churned out thousands of Pixar-related products since 1995’s Toy Story,” Barnes writes, "will not produce a single item."

This sort of talk pisses Pixar off, partly because they've heard it before. A lot of salarymen thought that they'd never heard of anything less commercial than Ratatouille, with its implicit message that the secret to good food is having more vermin in the kitchen - at least until they got a load of WALL-E with its long, dialogue-free opening sequence and apocalyptic take on environmental neglect. “The worries keep coming despite Pixar's track record," Doug Creutz of Cowen and Company says, "because each film it delivers seems to be less commercial than the last.” And in fact, even though Ratatouille and WALL-E were indeed huge hits, their ticket sales showed a marked drop-off from the likes of Finding Nemo. (Meanwhile, Pixar's biggest success in terms of generating toys and other side marketables was Cars, regarded by most observers as the studio's weakest feature in terms of quality.) Pixar has been building support in advance of the opening by showing it to bloggers and other friendly parties. So far, the response has been rapturous, with some fans comparing it to the work of Hayao Miyazaki. No doubt just hearing that makes Richard Greenfield want to take it all back.

Nobody seriously expects Up - which is scheduled to be shown on opening night at the Cannes Film Festival, an unprecedented honor for an animated film, or a 3-D film - to just tank. The real basis for the money men's complaints seem to be that Pixar, as they see it, perversely refuses to go at the target with both guns blazing. Instead of concentrating all their considerable energies on films that can be easily be spun into long-running franchises and tapped into for merchandising lines, they keep coming up with these odd, one-shot ideas and executing them impeccably. The movies are hits, but they could be making mega-super-colossal hits, which were in fact assembly lines for turning out more hits. (It's worth remembering that the one time Pixar tried to play the half-assed ancillary merchandise game, grinding out what was meant to be a direct-to-video sequel to their first film, Toy Story, Disney took one look at the resulting feature and realized that it was too good for the purpose for which it had been made; the studio was obliged to release it to theaters.) When the Pixar people aren't busy making films, they generate quotes for reporters, such as Pete Docter's “We make these films for ourselves. We’re kind of selfish that way,” or Pixar co-founder and Disney's head Imagineer John Lasseter's oft-repeated, "Quality is the best business plan.” Lines like that must strike the marketing guys as if they were intended as knives thrust into their skeevy black hearts. The bottom-line folks in Hollywood have always been good for reminding those in the creativity division that, while movies can be art, making them is also a business. The Pixar complainers may be representative of a mindset that isn't embarrassed to talk openly about how vexing it is to them that some of the people who generate good business have the audacity to also care about their art.

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Screengrab Salutes: The Top 20 Animated Feature Films (Part Five)

Phil Nugent — Thu, 21 Aug 2008 22:00:00 GMT

FINDING NEMO (2003)

Among the animation directors whose names are on the Pixar Hall of Fame, Andrew Stanton's may not have quite the same degree of luster as that of John Lasseter (who made the Toy Story pictures and A Bug's Life and who is now, oh yeah, the fuckin' head of Disney animation) or Brad Bird (who even before directing The Incredibles and Ratatouille for Pixar had distinguished himself with The Iron Giant and the classic Amazing Stories episode "Family Dog"), but that can only be because his titles have been piling up slower. This year's Wall-E confirms that the wit and warmth of his little-lost-fish story were no fluke, and also that his plan seems to be to keep getting better. (Mention of his forthcoming Edgar Rice Burroughs adaptation John Carter of Mars has been known to cause Screengrab writers to flap their front flippers together and lie down on the floor and spin around while going "Whoowhoowhoowhoowhoo" in merry anticipation. Is it any wonder that we don't get a lot of dates?) In director Eduardo Coutinho's remarkable documentary Playing, there's an amazing scene where an educated, middle-aged Brazlian woman tears up a bit while discussing the movie before cogently explaining that she sees it as a metaphor about her relationship with her own grown daughter.

CHICKEN RUN (2000)

This parody of The Great Escape and other military POW films (with gray, overcast English skies that serve as a memento mori) was the first feature from the mighty Aardman Animation studio, best known for Nick Park's films featuring Wallace and Gromit and other claymation shorts. (Park co-directed Chicken Run with Aardman co-founder Peter Lord. The project was reportedly seen as a test run for the more recent Wallace and Gromit feature The Curse of the Were-Rabbit: a way for Park and company to see whether their talents could sustain a full-length feature without taking a chance on tarnishing the W & G brand.) Not surprisingly, the jokes are stretched thinner here than in the shorts, which pop like firecrackers from beginning to end, but the project demonstrated that the sheer beauty of the visual craftsmanship of the claymation masters was enough to make up for that. The movie has a special historical interest now as the last recorded evidence of a time when Mel Gibson's brain cells were still happily alive and arranged in the desired order.

TWICE UPON A TIME (1982)

This experimental cut-out animation film, a sardonic sort of fairy tale with a cast that includes such improvisational comedians as Marshall Efron, Lorenzo Music, and Hamilton Camp, was executive produced by George Lucas in one of his periodic attempts to throw a lifeline to the independent filmmakers he'd known as an aspiring director and since moved past on the career ladder. It was directed by John Korty, whose '60s indies (The Crazy Quilt, Funnyman) once had a frisky reputation and are now very hard to find, with an assist from Charles Swenson, who credits as an animator include a section of Frank Zappa's 200 Motels and a movie version of Bobby London's scabrous underground comics character Dirty Duck. At its best, Twice Upon a Time is one of the rare movies that captures some of the termite-gnawing wisecracking feel of Jay Ward's TV cartoons, but it ran into problems getting seen at all: first the Ladd Company, which had the distribution rights, went bankrupt, and then Korty and producer Bill Couturié got into a pissing match over which dialogue tracks to use, which ended up costing it a steady life on cable TV and delayed its release to home video. It was finally issued on videocassette, but at this time no DVD release has planned. However, clips and audio tracks are all over the Internet, the movie's cult status having been greatly enhanced by both its unavailability and the fact that there are so many possible versions from which to choose, and to argue over. (The war over the dialogue tracks stems from the fact that the cast members were encouraged to make up their own lines, which resulted in some versions that are less family-friendly than others.)

THE TRIPLETS OF BELLEVILLE (2003)

Sylvain Chomet's wildly funny, outrageously cariactured farce about an old woman's efforts to rescue her grandson from the clutches of the villains who use his bicycle-hardened calves to power their gambling den is the most imaginative animated entertainment to emerge from Europe in recent years. Grand in scale, meticulously detailed, weirdly suggestive, and deranged in the friendliest way possible, it's that rare picture that makes you wish that people still went to midnight movies. Chomet's next film, The Illusionist, an animated feature inspired by an unproduced screenplay of Jacques Tati's, is eagerly anticipated: Tati is something of a presiding spirit here as well.

SPIRITED AWAY (2001)

Rumors that this would be Hiyao Miyazaki's final film before retiring have since turned out to have been premature, but that doesn't make it any less of a career apotheosis and a superb capstone to his career. This ever-expanding fantasy about a little girl's passage to maturity while serving time in an alternate spirit world and looking for the opportunity to be reunited with her lost parents brings together elements from his previous epics (Nausicaa, Princess Mononoke) and his smaller scale classics about the magic that co-exists with the beauty of regular life (Kiki's Delivery Service, Totoro). As a puny Westerner, there are nuances and touches here whose full meaning I suspect that I will never fully grasp, and God knows that's my loss, but Miyazaki delivers more to audiences that can only half-understand his work than most filmmakers who draw you a scorecard while sitting in your lap.

Click here for Part One, Part Two, Part Three, & Part Four

Tribeca Film Festival Reviews: "Playing" and "Theater of War"

Phil Nugent — Wed, 30 Apr 2008 18:00:00 GMT

The Brazilian filmmaker Eduardo Coutinho's Playing is an experimental documentary that sounds like a dumb stunt but plays as a fascinating study in the nature of acting and storytelling. The movie opens with the text of an ad Coutinho placed in the newspaper that amounted to an open call for any women in Rio de Janeiro over eighteen "with stories to tell." He filmed them talking about their lives and then brought in a succession of actresses, who studied these monologues and then, using their own words, delivered their own versions of the stories. The trick is that in the finished film, Coutinho cut together the best of both material-- the original speakers and the actresses doing their "interpretations" of them-- without clearly identifying for the audience which is which. Sometimes a scene will end with a woman revealing herself to be an actress by commenting on what she's just done; sometimes, as in the case of a woman who talks about how she sees her relationship with her grown daughter reflected in Finding Nemo, we get to see the original speaker's words alongside those of the actress who "plays" them; sometimes we never find out. At its simplest, the movie reveals a lot about "real life" and theater and how they complement and comment on each other. (A number of the women who seem to be describing their own experiences tear up very easily. However, an actress shows the director the tool she would have used if he'd insisted that she cry during her performance and explains that though she was prepared to use it, she preferred not to because it's her observation that when people really feel like crying, that's when they hold back their tears.) It also shows how thin the line between the two can be. Coutinho has taken a device that could have been used to cook up one more dopey illusion vs. reality game and made something substantial with it.

Another documentary in the festival, Theater of War, is also meant to be about theater and its application to the real world, which is here defined as torn-from-the-headlines big issues. Thinking about how the movie defines theater sort of makes my head hurt. The director, John Walter, made How to Draw a Bunny, an ugly-looking but endlessly fascinating video documentary about the prankster pop artist Ray Johnson. Theater, a behind-the-scenes look at a 2006 Public Theater production of Brecht's Mother Courage and Her Children, is much slicker-looking and about half as interesting. The material about Brecht's life and the writing and original production of the play is enough to make you think it would be great to see a real documentary about that sometime, preferably one that's less slavish in its worship of the playwright and that manages to get by without the contributions of this film's resident Brecht scholar, Jay Cantor, a man who has the rare distinction of having written bad novels about both Che Guevara and Krazy Kat. But the film's prime attraction is supposed to be the chance to see the Public Theater production coming together and to see a glimpse of the "process" of its star, Meryl Streep.

Streep comes across as a very nice woman, and she gets points for allowing herself to be filmed at rehearsals wearing a T-shirt that says "DIVA" across the front, but the big unanswered question raised by Theater of War is why this production was made. When the Public Theater's artistic director tells the camera that the Iraq war is an all-encompassing issue like the Vietnam war, and that he just knew he had to put on "an adaptation" of Mother Courage by Tony Kushner starring Meryl Streep, it just sounds as if he's saying that, in order to appear to be saying something about an important contemporary subject, he just had to have the biggest New York playwright to whom he had access custom-design a big classic play that could seem to be commenting on the subject, with the Official Big New York Stage Actress in the lead. Nothing that comes after that really dispels this impression, whether it's seeing the composer who's been hired to compose new songs in a sort of Brecht-Weill tailor them to the singing abilities of the stars, or the costume designer explain that she's throwing together styles of dress from many different periods and cultures so as not to appear to be commenting on any specific time or place, or watching the prop guys deliver on the director George C. Wolfe's passionate desire to have a jeep that can be driven onstage. (The Public Theater Mother Courage finally opened to loud hype and mixed reviews, with a "translation" by Kushner that included sitcom snappers and lines directed at the Bush administration.) The biggest shocker in the movie comes very early, when Tony Kushner, talking about his early years in New York in the mid-seventies as a theater student from Lousiana, and how he was able to feed his culture jones seeing things like the celebrated Public Theater production of The Threepenny Opera with Raul Julia and Ellen Greene and the whole of Wagner's Ring cycle "for no money." (There were gasps in the audience.) The subtext of Theater of War is the story of how some gifted people who were able to learn their craft and make their names in the last years when New York was affordable for young artists now collaborate, probably with the best of intentions, in the work of maintaining the illusion that this rich man's playground of a city is still a vital culture center by staging effects-heavy, glitzy shows whose point seems to be that Bertolt Brecht had George W. Bush's number. The punchline is that the Tony Kushner of 1975 might not be able to get into these shows, and to his credit, he might not want to.

P.S. Your Deer Is Dead

Leonard Pierce — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 15:00:00 GMT

Disney, as Disney is fond of reminding us, is not just a movie company or an entertainment conglomerate: it's a kingdom, a lifestyle, almost a religion. And if that's true, its position on the major issues of the day are more than just fodder for the back pages of their annual stockholder report: they're front page news, or even the subject of scholarly tomes.

Such, as the New York Times reports, is the case with Disney's environmental record. Throughout its history, Disney has played both sides of the ecological fence: it recently announced the formation of a new film unit exclusively dedicated to creating nature documentaries, while its theme parks are denounced by environmentalists as resource-draining, pollution-spewing nightmares; its previous science films have sparked the interest of children in wildlife and conservation, while attracting charges of exaggeration or outright fakery; and its beloved animated children's classics have cemented a protective attitude towards nature in the minds of entire generations, while both hunters and animal rights activists claim that they present a distorted and dangerous view of animal life.

Two new books have recently appeared on the market, reflecting the Disney dichotomy as regards the world of nature. David Whitley of Cambridge University has penned The Idea of Nature in Disney Animation, a prolix pro-Disney statement of purpise in which he argues that Disney has done perhaps more than any other institution to promote environmentalism: "These films", he says of Disney's animated canon, "have taught us variously about having a fundamental respect for nature. Some of them, such as Bambi, inspired conservation awareness and laid the emotional groundwork for environmental activism." Ralph Lutts of Oxford, however, takes issue with that notion in his The Nature Fakers: Wildlife, Science, & Sentiment, taking the films to task for their "Sunday School vision of nature as a place without stress, conflict, or death."

The debate looks to intensify with the foundation of Disneynature, and author Patricia Cohen notes that even internally, the message isn't always clear-cut, as the John Muir unspoiled-wilderness environmentalism of early Disney films like Bambi is giving way to a Nature Conservatory view in movies like Finding Nemo, where humans and animals find a happy medium of coexistence. One problem, though: what of Pixar? What message are we sending our children about the issue of safe spaces for robots, living toys, and talking cars?

“Pinocchio in Outer Space” and Other Forgotten Cartoons

Scott Von Doviak — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 16:00:00 GMT

Have you seen Mad Monster Party lately? “Featuring the final screen ‘appearance’ of horror icon Boris Karloff, Mad Monster Party was co-written by comics legend Harvey Kurtzman, creator of the original Mad comic books, and featured character designs by cartoonist Jack Davis of Mad Magazine and EC comics — a genius at combining humor and grotesquerie.” Or how about Down and Dirty Duck? “Likely assembled as a quick cash-in on the underground success of Ralph Bakshi's Fritz the Cat, Down and Dirty Duck was put together with the assistance of erstwhile Turtles (and Mothers of Invention) Mark Volman and Howard Kaylan (nee Flo and Eddie), who contributed voice, music and plot elements. (The duo’s former employer, Frank Zappa, makes a cameo appearance during a particularly bizarre segment in which his head rises, sunlike, in the sky over the main characters.)”

These are but two entries in Bullz-Eye.com’s eye-opening Animated and Forgotten: Feature Length Cartoons You May Not Remember. (The key words there being “may not.” It’s a fun list, but how could we ever forget The Incredible Mr. Limpet and The Iron Giant?) You can read the whole thing here, but if you want to see video clips from some of these obscurities, you’ve come to the right place:

PINOCCHIO IN OUTER SPACE (1965)

One advantage to being a wooden boy: when you travel to other planets, no space helmets are necessary. But why is that goofy turtle trying to romance him?

MAD MONSTER PARTY (1969)

Little Tibia and the Fibias rock, but what could be more disturbing than a stop-motion Phyllis Diller unwrapping the poor Mummy while he’s trying to get his groove on?

THE POINT! (1971)

The animation in this acid-trip inspired Harry Nilsson musical is a little, how shall we say, crude by today’s standards, but you’re never going to hear a more charming ditty about decomposition than “Think About Your Troubles.”

ROCK AND RULE (1983)

Apparently Mick Jagger didn’t care much for Lou Reed’s performance as “Mok Swagger” in this “post-apocalyptic tale of satanic magic and the rock and roll lifestyle among mutated, extremely anthropomorphic, cats, dogs, and rats.”

LITTLE NEMO: ADVENTURES IN SLUMBERLAND (1989)

Not to be confused with Finding Nemo, this adaptation of the Winsor McKay comic strip is hard to find, but you can watch the whole thing on YouTube starting here: