Dark Star (1974)

I'm finally off the horror kick, apparently, which is a relief - next on the list would've been Alien, which I know for a fact that I know I can't watch without a run-up and a cushion to hide behind. It's a great film, as I'll no doubt explain lengthily at some point, but I've found in the past that it does leave me feeling rather as though I've been through the wringer.

Yesterday, though, I was definitely in the mood for some cult sci-fi. You know the sort - proper cult sci-fi, none of this fandom nonsense. I wanted shoddy effects and flat-out weirdness, and if it was made after 1990 I almost certainly didn't want to know. I asked Mr B, because In the nicest possible way, this is an area where his experience is far greater than mine.

His suggestion was Dark Star, which appealed for a number of reasons.

Firstly, it's John Carpenter - specifically, it's John Carpenter from the early days, when he was still interesting. Secondly, absolutely fit the bill when it came to low-budget, high-weirdness sci-fi. Finally, crucially, I'd heard it featured an alien made from a beach ball. How in the world could I resist?

The story, such as it is, concerns the four inhabitants of the scoutship Dark Star, tasked with heading into habitable star systems and destroying unstable planets that might put them at risk. The prologue, a sort of video voicemail to the ship's crew, explains this, and that although the ship has been badly damaged and the Commander is dead, it is not possible for any help to be provided and that basically, they're on their own. We follow them about their daily routines, inhabiting the cramped corridors and observing what might very well be the last hours and days of their lives.

Luckily, this is a whole lot funnier than I'm making it sound.

The good

I hadn't been entirely sure what to expect from this one, I confess - I'm a sci-fi fan, true, but not a huge one, and Dark Star is way, way before my time. Still, I went in with an open mind and an open heart, and I feel I was richly rewarded for it.

I loved this film in so very, very many ways, from its beautiful absurdity to the way in which it resolutely refuses to offer explanations. The audience are left to work things out for themselves, and from a personal point of view I found this added to the fundamental immersiveness of the experience. There was a real beauty in the way that some of the set-piece situations unfolded, as we shifted from one protagonist to another in a way perfected by today's soap operas; cliffhangers evolved, grew and were resolved like the creation and implosion of so many miniature universes.

Yet again, however, I'm waxing all poetic, when what I really want to convey is quite how funny it is. I laughed out loud, frequently, in delighted incredulity, and sometimes in sheer delight. 

The bad

Let's be honest: you know who you are. Not everybody digs absurdism in their sci-fi, or beach ball aliens. That's fine - it's a big world with room for lots of different people with lots of different movie tastes. If this doesn't sound appealing and you're more attracted by the likes of, say, Interstellar, that's absolutely fine. You monsters.

The verdict

At a scant 83 minutes (and with a 70-minute cut available), Dark Star is an absolute delight from start to finish. Highly recommended.

Innerspace (1987)

Just a quickie today while I work out how to try and monetize this thing. Before the day is out, after all, there's a healthy chance I'll have precisely 18.5 more free hours a week and precisely one fewer regular source of income, which is slightly vexing, given that I only had the one to begin with. Am I bitter? Fuck, yes. Is this your problem? Fuck, no.

Anyhow, Innerspace is a loose re-working of 1966 sci-fi classic Fantastic Voyage, in that they both deal with a miniaturized, manned craft being injected into somebody's body. In the case of Innerspace, this involves alcoholic former test pilot Tuck Pendleton (Dennis Quaid), who is meant to be exploring the insides of a white lab rabbit but lands up inside neurotic grocery store clerk Jack Putter (Martin Short) instead after criminals make an attempt to steal the miniaturisation technology. Putter, already a paranoid hypochondriac, rapidly finds out that everybody now really is out to get him.

When I was a kid, this formed the second part of a regular afternoon's video viewing - the first part would always be Biggles, Adventures in Time. They were funny, they were exciting, and if they both contained scary bits I soon learned where they were and knew exactly when to look away and turn back again.

The good

I have to admit, when I thought about returning to this one it was with the default assumption that it would be absolutely dire. Biggles was mildly awful, after all, but at least it had the virtue of being a proper curio, where as this had Spielberg's name slapped over the opening credits and thus by definition, had to be mass-market, overly-sentimental tosh.

On the whole, I was pleasantly surprised.

They made movies weirder 30 years ago, I suspect, because Innerspace strikes me as rather more fearless than a lot of modern family fare. Of course, that could down to director Joe Dante, who I suspect has never been entirely happy in the mainstream. True, he's a Spielberg protegé, but I've always had the sense that he was straining at the leash to produce something a little nastier and more twisted; I'd have loved to have seen him fulfil his potential and become the horror genre's very own John Waters figure.

As it is, though, we have this one, a fun sci-fi caper with smart performances from some of the era's leading stars. Quaid, we are led to believe, is largely playing himself, something he pulls off with aplomb, while SNL regular Martin Short turns Putter into a surprisingly engaging figure - by the end, we're really rooting for him. The scripting is smart enough - just - to hold the attention, and the effects work is right on the mark; the miniaturisation sequence in particular is paced well enough as to create a genuine sense of wonder and excitement, and that doesn't happen to a cynic like me very often.

Full marks, too, for the character of Lydia (Meg Ryan), Pendleton's brave, proactive girlfriend who's more than capable of rescuing herself from any scrapes she gets into.

One final note: the rubber mask transformation scenes are apparently very highly-rated among, err, rubber mask transformation aficionados. I think aficionados is the word? Nope, my bad, it's fetishists. Still, point still stands.

The bad

It's a Joe Dante film, which means that practically by definition, it's a movie in search of a target audience. I was too young and too timid for Gremlins when it came out (and I still haven't got round to it) but kiddie horror is a tricky genre to pull off, and my general impression was that he only partially succeeded. I have, on the other hand, seen Small Soldiers, which felt a little like a remake; it charmed the pants off me, but parts of it still sort of scared the socks off me, too. 

Make no mistake, Dante has a talent for nastiness - no bad thing if you're aiming for a family market, but you have to be able to judge it right. More to the point, I'm not quite sure what interest younger audiences would have in Pendleton's alcoholism, nor what older ones might have in Putter's terrified slapstick.

The verdict

Undemanding, cheerful fun for all the family, particularly if you come from a family of alcoholic rubber mask transformation fetishists.

The Voices (2014)

I've always had rather mixed feelings about the graphic novel Persepolis, to tell the truth. A lot of people seem to think this autobiographical story of a young girl growing up during Iran's Islamic revolution is practically seminal, and I can see their point. I've always tried to source a copy for any young adult libraries I've worked in purely because of the way it brings important historical events to such vivid life, and on a personal note, I adore the stark simplicity of the black and white artwork.

It's just that, well, Marjane Satrapi struck me as being particularly self-absorbed, even for somebody writing their autobiography. As the story progressed and the historical landscape grew less fractured, I found her an increasingly irritating character to the point where I decided I could probably live without the second instalment.

Still, when I heard she'd started directing, I couldn't deny a certain degree of curiosity, and dark comedy The Voices, her most recent effort, seemed like as good a starting point as any. Besides, people were raving about Ryan Reynolds' performance, and I couldn't help but feel warmed by the compassion of anybody who'd allow him an acting gig after his performance in The Green Lantern. 

Here he stars as Jerry, a packing and shipping worker at a bathroom fittings company in Milton, the sort of generically American, picture-postcard little town that's practically traditional for the genre. Jerry's a sweet guy, if a little socially awkward; he's good at his job, and privately in love with Fiona from accounting (Gemma Arterton), whilst remaining oblivious to the attentions of the slightly mousier Lisa (Anna Kendrick), who clearly adores him.

So far, so romcom, and that's what we think we're getting, right up until the point where Jerry goes home and his cat starts swearing at him like a sailor. Mr. Whiskers has a heck of an attitude, and it's a good thing that Jerry's canine pal Bosco is there to stick up for him. Whiskers is charismatic, though, and knows how to make a point, no matter what Jerry's friendly shrink Dr. Warren might say.

When a date with Fiona goes awry and Jerry lands up with her severed head in his fridge, he finds himself forced to ponder some important questions, not the least of which the one Fiona's head keeps asking about when he'll find her a friend to keep her company...

The good

I was struck by the sheer craftsmanship of this one, and most especially the cinematography. There's a definite edge of magic realism here, and clever lighting and prop use give constant and amusing visual cues as to Jerry's state of mind. Watching it, I felt the same sense of vague bedazzlement that I do with the films of Danny Boyle - how did the team know how to position every single object and actor in the shot in such a stunning way? I suspect this may have been due in no small part to Satrapi's background as a graphic novelist.

Performances were good, too - granted, Reynolds is cross-eyed and gormless, but on this occasion it's probably what was required. I was quite impressed by his vocal work on the talking animals, too. As Fiona, Gemma Arterton is the required embodiment of perfidious Albion, coquettish and haughty by turns but utterly reptilian throughout. Anna Kendrick, meanwhile, plays Lisa as another of her sweet natured naifs, and it's hard to understand why she only turns Jerry's head once Fiona is out of the picture.

The bad

Firstly, let's not mince words: the script simply isn't up to scratch. The basic concept is a funny one, but the dialogue and storytelling are so clumsy the rob the movie of a lot of its potential bite. Sure, I smiled from time to time and even giggled on occasions, but this is a genre that trades on shock value and I never once felt even remotely scandalized.

This is a minor gripe, however, compared to my main problem with The Voices, which is its absolutely disgusting treatment of the subject of mental illness in general and schizophrenia in particularly. We've seen progress in recent years, I think; people are talking about mental health issues more and more, and in recent years we've seen an outcry over the likes of 'insane mental patient' Hallowe'en costumes and the use of ableist language.

The Voices, however, takes us straight back to the dark ages, giving us a protagonist who hears voices telling him to kill people and then does so, before (spoiler) allowing himself to die in what the movie suggests is an act likely to be the only way by which he can achieve inner peace. I'm not sure whether Satrapi or anybody else involved thought they might have a profound point to make by occasional mentions of religion; to my mind it seemed tacked on to try and bring intellectual credibility to what really isn't a terribly smart movie by any standards. It's a retrograde step, and having been oppressed herself, I can't help but think Satrapi might have shown a little more compassion.

The verdict

There's a lot to like about The Voices, but only from a distance; sure, on casual viewing it's pleasantly nasty, but strip away the gorgeous visuals and you're left with a hate-peddling and slightly dimwitted comedy popcorn flick that frustrates where it could have delighted.

Stardust (2007)

Claire Danes is great, I'll be blunt

In Gaiman's cute fairytale stunt

But my praise can only be

Given reservedly

For Ricky Gervais is a charmless oaf who deserves a life of permanent unemployment and preferably a slow death by starvation under a bridge somewhere.

(Stardust)

The Cabin in the Woods

It happened again yesterday - I was looking down my list of possible films, looking for something animated and cosy to shield me from all the scary uncertainties that seem to have taken over my life right now. 

I was looking for something comforting, I suppose, but at some point over the past few weeks my paradigm for comfort viewing seems to have shifted dramatically. All I've actually been wanting to watch lately is horror - classy horror, admittedly, but normally I have to nerve myself to dip into the genre even when it's something I've seen before and know I'll enjoy. Suddenly, though, my life seems to be descending into chaos and I'm watching Joss Whedon's The Cabin in the Woods like a six-year-old princess fetishist watches Frozen.

There's a reason for this: it's very good indeed. However, it's also so tightly-plotted that to discuss anything but the bare bones of the story and characters is to risk ruining somebody's experience of the film, and after the fun I've had I'm just not prepared to do that. Here's a clue, though: that bit before the pre-credits sequence where the studio and production company do their little animated logos? Yeah, that's your spoiler right there, if you look carefully enough.

Anyhow, there is indeed a cabin, and there are some woods. There's a lake, too, and a bunch of photogenic college students keen to get there despite the disturbingly sinister gas station attendant who strongly implies that this may not be a good idea. 

It's a classic setup - the exact same setup, in fact, that begins Tucker and Dale Vs. Evil, and the two films do share a certain amount of common ground. Tucker and Dale is, however, at heart, a simple moral fable about prejudice, and none the worse for it. The Cabin in the Woods, on the other hand, well, spoilers forbid, of course, but it's an entirely different kettle of entrails.

The good

I know I haven't always been terribly complimentary about Joss Whedon in the past. I may have implied that the majority of his oeuvre consists of identikit teen models spouting identikit pithy dialogue under exasperated but loving supervision of respected middle-aged genre actors. 

In all honesty, I still stand by all of this, but The Cabin in the Woods is Whedon doing what he knows and does best. The really important thing, though, is that he's doing it to the best of his considerable ability, and the result is a tricksy, mischievous tale of the unexpected that will surely rank amidst the best horror films of this century.

There's this myth that truly great films and truly watchable films belong in two completely separate Venn sets, and never the twain shall meet. It's nonsense, of course, but it's pernicious nonsense - so pernicious, in fact, that I often have to remind myself that beliefs like these aren't just offensively anti-intellectual but also, frankly, complete and utter bollocks. 

Don't believe me? The Cabin in the Woods is the proof. It's a perfectly-crafted puzzle box in reverse of a story, as seemingly disparate elements slowly slot into place and a mystery is formed and solved in only an hour and a half. Whedon and his co-writer Drew Goddard clearly had the time of their lives with this one, and were kind enough to bring us along for the ride. Sure, the acting's fine and the cinematography is better, and the mystery respected middle-aged genre actor is an absolute doozie, but yeah, this is all about the storytelling, which offers a glorious mix of shocks and laughs and proves beyond all question that yes, smart is definitely also cool.

The bad

None really, but if you're not a huge fan of the horror genre (or of Whedon's usual schtick) then this may not be the film for you. 

The verdict

I've watched The Cabin in the Woods twice in three weeks now, and I'm still not sure how a film whose impact depends so heavily on surprise can stand up so well to repeat viewing. It's probably a measure of the film's sheer quality, I think - it's a work of art, yes, but also a work of craft. Highly recommended. 

 



I

28 Days Later... (2002)

I want something easy to write about, I thought yesterday, as I was flicking through the list of movies available to me. Monday blogs are generally fairly briskly-written, if only so I can get them done, go to work for the morning and then come home and catch up on any sleep I might have missed. I had plenty of options, too - nice, smart family movies that I knew inside out, that would definitely entertain me and wouldn't require too much intellectual effort.

Then, as I checked the list again, I realized I'd been wrong. No, I thought, I want something beautiful. 

I'd just registered the presence of 28 Days Later... , Danny Boyle's brutal, lyrical not-quite-zombie thriller, and I knew nothing else would do.

The first time I saw the in its entirety, several years had passed since its original release, but I already knew certain scenes practically by heart. Well, one scene, in any case, the one where cycle courier Jim (Cillian Murphy) awakens in bed in a deserted hospital and walks out onto the streets of an utterly empty London, while East Hastings by Godspeed, You Black Emperor! slowly builds from quiet menace to the musical equivalent of a full-on outburst of grief. We see Blackfriars Bridge devoid of traffic barring an upturned bus, and the giant Piccadilly Circus screens blank like obsolete televisions, before the camera swoops in to linger on the hoardings around Eros covered with thousands of desperate handwritten messages from people who've lost their nearest and dearest but have to believe that they've simply mislaid them instead.

It's one of the most striking openings in cinematic history, and I viewed it repeatedly, wishing I had the courage to view the film in its entirety. 

Then, finally, the day came when it just felt right - I knew I could cope with the gore and the jump scares if it meant I could see the story attached to that single, glorious vignette.

The good

Still not sure this isn't Boyle's finest achievement. For me, it's the film of his where everything seemed to fall into place - the cinematography, the music, Alex Garland's superior scriptwriting and storytelling all combine to create something haunting and deeply intense.

It was interesting yesterday, too, to watch it after so recently having seen Zombieland, a very similar film in theme if not in tone, and to note all the places where Zombieland missteps and 28 Days... gets it so very, very right. Sure, the former is a comedy, but the latter has notes of humour, and they're all the more precious for being set within such a harrowing environment. Boyle's zombies aren't video-game enemies to be creatively exploded, they're real people, and he doesn't allow us or the protagonists to forget this for so much as a second. It helps, of course, that we're given a prologue that explains explicitly how the crisis begins; it's also useful that the the time taken from infection to transformation is only a matter of a handful of seconds. Sometimes only the very narrowest of margins separate us from the monsters, it suggests, a message hammered home during a few moments in the final act when Naomie Harris' Selena genuinely can't tell a rage and adrenaline-fuelled Jim from her undead pursuers.

Except that they're not undead, not technically; they're victims of a virus and very much alive. They move at lighting speed and with ruthless intent, utterly implacable. One of the final scenes, however, shows the logical consequence of this, as supplies of their natural prey run out and several are seen, lying by the roadside, emaciated, slowly starving to death. It's a powerful image, but then, this is a very powerful piece of cinema.

The bad

I honestly don't think there's a lot wrong with this one. 

Roger Ebert did argue that a bleaker ending might have been a braver one, and I think I can sort of see it. That said, the relatively upbeat final scenes provide some nice emotional catharsis after quite a gruelling couple of hours. Having asked us to empathise with our protagonists (and in some cases, literally view the action through their eyes), the optimistic payoff suggests faith not only in their future, but in the future of humanity itself. It's a good message, and I suspect it's probably also good business to ensure audiences don't leave the multiplex feeling too emotionally drained.

The verdict

Not the easiest or most relaxing watch out there, but definitely one of the most beautiful. 28 Days Later offers the gore and jump shocks you'd expect, yes, but underlying the flash is a sense of dread not so much of some unseen menace, but of the monster that lurks within us all.

 

Gone Girl (2014)

Fun fact: like household pets, professional librarians generally like to mark their territory.

Since pissing on the corners of the shelves would draw down some awkward questions from senior management, however, we have to get sneaky about our methods. Still, the urge remains, especially in these uncertain times; we want to create a legacy, some sort of small reminder that I woz 'ere. The socially-approved way of doing this, therefore, is to tip the scales in the fiction section a little; to put in just a little bit more of what you love than you do of everything else, so people can get an idea of what sort of person currently rules the roost*

Before budget cuts and space reductions slashed my current fiction collection to one copy of Twilight and one of something identikit by Danielle Steel, it was satisfyingly heavy on literary fiction and the classier end of the crime novel market. I'd go on buying expeditions and look for anything with simple, bold covers devoid of any sort of romantic motif, and all would be good. There was only one hazard: I generally had a pretty good memory for what we already had in, but sometimes I'd slip up and we'd land up with multiple copies.  

I originally borrowed (one of our copies of) Gone Girl to hide this fact from my boss.

It was great, though - perhaps not great literature, but certainly great trash. It was an old-fashioned eat-your-life page turner, and I promptly passed my borrowed copy to Mr. Beaupepys whilst rapidly farming the other one out to a selection of equally delighted colleagues. The effect was dramatic - people who'd been unaware of my existence for years suddenly started remembering my name.

And then the fuss died down, and things went back to normal. I mostly forgot about this not-so-simple tale of the disappearance of one Amy Dunne. I can't really delve any deeper into the plot for fear of spoilers, but suffice it to say that none of the narrators can be truly relied upon. The key thing is that I mostly forgot about it, okay?

I still felt a quick thrill of delight when I heard it was being filmed, though, and from there things just got better. David Fincher signed on to direct, and I couldn't have been happier - is there honestly any better director out there when it comes to taking fun but preposterous nonsense and giving it a veneer of auteurial sophistication? Ben Affleck was cast in the role of everyman Nick Dunne, which was fine, but what really got me excited was the announcement of Rosamund Pike as Amy. Pike is always a solid and rather charming performer, and her icy, slightly chameleonic looks were exactly the way I'd pictured Amy in my head.

I didn't bother to see the film at the cinema because I wasn't sure it'd particularly benefit from the big screen, but the DVD release date seemed like the perfect time to give it a shot.

The good

As previously stated, this is a difficult film to discuss because of the necessity of avoiding spoilers. I can't really reveal anything about the plot, so generalities will have to do.

To summarize, then: I liked Gone Girl - I didn't love it, but I liked it. It was two and a half hours of slick, entertaining storytelling, and a perfect way to while away a chilly afternoon. The cast all did their jobs with style (and in Pike's case, a fair amount of nerve), and nobody was afraid to get their hands dirty. It was nicely staged, and the soundtrack slid into and out of place in all the right places. Despite the vaguely operatic story, things never seemed in any danger of descending into camp, and there's not honestly a lot more I can ask than that.

The bad

I just wish I hadn't read the book beforehand.

I'd actually had similar concerns prior to viewing Fight Club, another of Fincher's efforts based on a book that relied heavily on the shock of the twist. On that occasion I wasn't disappointed; if anything, it was a pleasure to see how Fincher treated the more metaphysical aspects of the book, and I was quite surprised by the emotional impact it had on me.

How can I put this delicately, though? ...Gone Girl the novel wasn't half so audacious as Palahniuk's Fight Club, nor half as smart, and frankly, there's not half as much material there to work with. What we're left with, therefore, is a thriller where the vast majority of the intended audience will already know all the killer surprises, which are very much the unique selling point.

The verdict

A fun, entertaining thriller just like any number of other genre entries out there. Recommended, I guess, but don't expect it to rock your world. 

 

*It also means that if you're savvy, qualifying as a professional librarian can ensure you never need to shell out your own cash on another book in your life.
 

Into the Woods (2014)

For more or less as long as I can remember, Disney and I have had a chequered history. Oh, sure, I adored their stuff as a kid, but I grew up during one of their fallow periods, and by the time The Little Mermaid was released in 1990, my teenage cynicism was just starting to kick in. Oh, I watched the movies with varying degrees of enjoyment, but it was all just a little too cutesy and by the numbers, and I think if opportunities had been available to watch other feature-length animation I'd probably have gone elsewhere.

Later on,  when I became aware of the way they cleaned up and dumbed down their source material and the horrendous way they treated their theme park employees, I swore off the House of Mouse for good. Or, well, I tried to - Disney have fingers in a lot of pies, and I kept on finding their logo cropping up on what felt like the least likely titles. The final straw came when I realized they'd taken over Marvel; that was when I knew resistance was futile and that I'd have to start judging their films on their own merits and not on the stupid castle stamped on the credits of what felt like every third thing I viewed.

I'm not sure what the impulse was that led me to look at Into the Woods yesterday. On balance, I suspect it was probably masochism - I'd had some guaranteed good times lined up to compensate for the past couple of depressing entries, so it wasn't as though I had any urgent need to watch Disney tackle Sondheim. I've never been a huge fan of Enchanted, their other live-action fairytale musical, and besides I'd seen the trailers and the central theme had wormed itself unpleasantly into my hindbrain where it popped up at regular intervals, unbidden and utterly unwanted.

The main plot is a complex and involved one, linking a number of classic fairytales including Rapunzel, Cinderella, Jack and the Beanstalk and Red Riding Hood. Our main protagonists, however, are the Baker (James Corden) and his wife (Emily Blunt), a peasant couple whose desire for a child threatens to consume their entire lives. The Baker's family, however, was cursed by a Witch (Meryl Streep), who was angered by his father who inadvertently stole her youth and beauty when he stole the vegetables from her garden - in particular, some very special magic beans. 

In order to lift the curse, the Witch demands that the Baker fetch some very specific items - a cow as white as milk, a cape as red as blood, hair as yellow as corn, and a slipper as fine as gold. The Baker and his wife venture into the woods to retrieve them, and as they do, they run into various other figures all searching for their own dearest wishes. Misunderstandings ensue, but eventually the curse is lifted and by a little over the hour mark, everybody is living happily ever after.

Unfortunately for our heroes, however, the film runs a little over two hours long...

The good

Taking some time out to check the reviews for this one, I noticed a sharp divergence between the opinions of the critics and the moviegoing public; the former group seemed to love it, while the latter frequently seemed offended by it to the point of personal affront. I'm happy to say I'm with the critics on this one; Into the Woods isn't a flawless film by any means, but it's certainly an interesting one, and it left me with more to think about than the average family blockbuster.

I'll start with the standard disclaimer that I haven't seen the source material; I'm aware several characters and scenes have been cut from the original material, which might prove an annoyance for Sondheim purists, but from my point of view there was more than enough going on and it certainly never felt as though chunks of the story had been hacked out wholesale.

Apparently it was a directorial decision to cast actors rather than singers, and I think it was a wise one - the cast acquit themselves remarkably well, and on a personal note, I've never been a huge fan of Broadway-style vocal gymnastics anyway. I did find Lilla Crawford's Red Riding Hood gratingly stagey at first, but her segments with Johnny Depp's predatory Wolf are some of the film's best.

Credit also has to be given to Meryl Streep as the Witch, who creates a figure both deranged and oddly sympathetic. She attacks the material with real gusto, and it's only when she disappears that the film starts to lose a little of its momentum. Anna Kendrick, meanwhile, makes for a delightfully self-aware Cinderella, vacillating and scheming as she gradually takes control of her destiny.

I know a lot of people have complained about the film's second act, where the happy-ever-afters evaporate and magic is abandoned in favour of some hard life lessons. To do this, however, is to miss the point - Into the Woods is very much a story about growing up and taking responsibility for one's own actions, and about how magical thinking will never be an adequate substitute for common sense. It's easy to forget that fairytales originated as a way of introducing children to truths too large and frightening to speak out loud - in their oldest forms, these are cautionary tales about blood and predators, where the default state of existence is to live under mortal threat. I loved the way that the film actually confronted this - Disney have increasingly been making a shift away from moral absolutism towards more complex emotional material, and if anybody's really longing for a shift back towards the so-called good old days, then I'm honestly concerned for the state of the world today.

The bad

Much has been made of Into the Woods taking a somewhat darker tone than previous Disney musicals, but in this case I'd argue that maybe they didn't go far enough? I'm no fan of gratuitous violence, but that's almost the point - why kill or maim characters in various creative ways if not to provide drama and emotional heft? Here, these events happen in an eyeblink, and I'm still not sure whether or not Cinderella's prince is alive at the end of the film. For moments like these to be relevant, they have to be memorable, or they lose whatever impact they might have had.

This, I suppose, is my main gripe with the film as a whole - the libretto tackles some big, complex, scary themes that the cinematography ducks almost entirely. I found myself repeatedly disappointed as we failed to see Cinderella's meeting with the Prince, or the world of the giants and the destruction that the Giant's wife subsequently wrought. Bluntly put, there wasn't enough spectacle, culminating in a visually and verbally muted conclusion that ultimately diminishes the movie's primary messages.

The verdict

I could have written about this one at much greater length; perhaps I still will, at some point when I have a little more time to spare. In general, I feel it's probably a failure, but at least it's a noble one; hopefully it'll inspire Disney to continue taking risks and bringing the rest of us along for the ride.