Wall-E

If Wall-E had been made by any company other than Pixar, even if it had been made by Disney itself, the little robot protagonist would have been given the earnest voice of a hero, his struggles would be overt, flashy displays of bravery, and his cockroach friend would be a wisecracking sidekick who would spout wisdom in the form of pop culture references. Fortunately, Wall-E was created by Pixar, and it falls into none of these cliches. On the contrary, it transcends the highest standards of filmmaking, including those set down by previous Pixar productions.

Wall-E is the story of a robot, a Waste Allocation Load Lifter- Earth Class, who was built to organize and compact the garbage that has covered Earth, an uninhabitable wasteland. As he sorts the garbage from day to day, Wall-E develops a fascination with the objects that were left behind 700 years before by the human population of Earth. His fascination stems from a great solitude on the abandoned planet, where his only companion is a cockroach that follows him everywhere. Unlike other Wall-Es, this particular robot has learned to improvise and make adjustments to fix himself during his centuries on the job, so that he has outlasted all the other robots of his kind. His collection of human artifacts includes everything from lightbulbs to music cassettes (which he plays in his body), but his greatest treasure is a video of Hello Dolly, from which Wall-E begins to understand the concept of love. Wall-E sees that humans’ greatest emotional connections usually involve touch, particularly the holding of hands, and this contact is something that he craves above all else.

One day, Wall-E is shocked to receive a visit from a spaceship, which deposits a robot named EVE (Extraterrestrial Vegetation Evaluator) onto the surface. Eve is much more modern than Wall-E, who displays a rough surface and hints of rust. EVE is perfectly smooth, polished white, and she’s all business, searching for signs of life on Earth. Immediately smitten, Wall-E begins to pursue her, and through his perseverence and determination, as well as his selflessness, EVE begins to understand the concepts of emotions that are so present within Wall-E.

On the surface, this reads like a simple love story, and it does indeed function on that level, but also on many others. Pixar’s greatest triumph has always been its ability to infuse its characters (whether monsters, fish, or cars) with great humanity. The studio emphasizes characterization over fast-paced action, and it takes the time to build each personality patiently through quiet moments. This particular film, more than any other in their past, is composed primarily of those quiet moments, since about 2/3 of it is silent. Indeed, Wall-E is a very Chaplinesque character, an innocent little guy who gets in trouble that is far beyond his comprehension, but who nevertheless keeps fighting for the things he cares about.

In addition to the romance between Wall-E and EVE, the film functions on the level of social commentary. It is Pixar’s most melancholy film yet, a condemnation of consummerism and a reminder of our responsibility as stewards of the planet that has given us life. Though never pretentious nor preachy, the film presents a future in which humans have forgotten how to be human; they are people completely disabled by their dependence on technology. They don’t really live; they merely exist in a space station far away from Earth, helpless as babies and completely inactive. The species with the greatest capacity for innovation and creation is also the one with the greatest capacity for self-abuse and self-destruction. It takes a tiny little robot to teach them about their lost humanity.

Wall-E is a cinematic gem, one of the strongest films released in recent years (animated or not). The visuals are stunning, bringing to mind the visual poetry of such films as 2001: A Space Odyssey. One can almost feel the rust on Wall-E and his barren home, as well the cool surfaces of the space station. Furthermore, the animation of the robots is meticulous in conveying their emotions and endearing them to the viewer. Beyond technical innovation, Wall-E brings us an unforgettable hero, and an intelligent, poignant and universal story. It is further proof that animated films are worthy of standing alongside (and often above) live-action ones as the best examples of what the medium has to offer. Wall-E is cinema at its best.

-Artemis

The Meaning of Night

The subtitle of Michael Cox’s first novel is A Confession, for that is exactly what it purports to be, the confession of a killer, Edward Glyver. The novel opens with Glyver’s murder of an innocent in 19th Century London. Throughout the text, as narrator and protagonist, Glyver chronicles the events that led to his present, desperate circumstances. He feels that the hand of fate is driving him inexorably towards a violent confrontation with his life-long enemy, the elusive Phoebus Daunt, the man he holds responsible for the injustices that life has visited upon him.

The Meaning of Night is a great, modern take on the Gothic Novel. It uses the backstreets of London to its greatest advantage, to mirror the turmoil and the rage of Glyver’s mind, as well as the mystery surrounding his past. The twists and turns of the story, as seen through Glyver’s eyes, make the betrayals that he suffers seem that much more vivid. He is far from heroic, and in fact he’s heavily disturbed, but he doesn’t lose the reader’s sympathy, for his journey is a believable one. Glyver struggles, from the beginning, against the calamities that are closing in around him, and his struggle becomes the reader’s. We follow his journey into darkness because we understand that his motives are sound, even if his methods are not.

Cox’s knowledge and love of books (he has edited collections of Victorian literature) is evident in the text, for Glyver is a bibliophile, as are the people he loves, and literature is referenced constantly throughout the narrative. Furthermore, the novel is presented as an actual Victorian text, complete with Latin chapter titles, as per the style of the era. Cox opens with a preface from a fictional editor who has found Glyver’s manuscript and published it in book form, adding footnotes regarding the time period and titles named therein as necessary. There are shades of Bronte and Conan Doyle, as Glyver attempts to piece together the pieces of his past, and comes to the realization that Daunt must die at his hands. The plot hinges on the revelation of the connections between Daunt and Glyver, and the unraveling of the mystery makes for an engrossing climax.

With The Meaning of Night, Michael Cox illustrates how an essentially good man can be driven to perform horrible deeds. It is a journey into desperation and despair that is expertly written, with rich but unpretentious prose. The pace is deliberate and tense, but never slow or boring. For fans of the Gothic classics, like Jekyll & Hyde and Jane Eyre, this should be a very enjoyable read: a great Gothic novel with a modern, dark psychological bent.

-Artemis

The Alienist

Historical fiction must walk a fine line between entertainment and didacticism. If there is too much embellishment or a flagrant neglect of historical accuracy, the novel will turn off the genre’s history buffs. Veer too much into the history of the era depicted, and the general public may lose interest. With The Alienist, author Caleb Carr paints a vivid picture of New York City during the waning years of the 19th Century, and he does so without sacrificing the quick pace and suspense of his story.

The eponymous alienist (i.e. psychologist) is Laszlo Kreizler, a doctor whose modern approach to criminal psychology has rendered him an outcast from the fellows in his profession. Rather than dismiss all violent criminals as insane, Kreizler looks for clues and patterns in a killer’s formative years, in his environment, that may render him unable to control his violent impulses. Kreizler thus becomes convinced that a psychological portrait of a criminal, a profile, might help to identify and capture offenders. When a series of violent murders occur in Manhattan, newly appointed Police Commissioner Theodore Roosevelt enlists the aid of his old college friends, Dr. Kreizler and NY Times reporter John Moore, the novel’s narrator. Roosevelt has troubles of his own, having replaced an extremely corrupt predecessor. His unconventional hiring choices, like the introduction of women and Jews into the force, do not make him very popular. Because the murderer in question targets male transvestite prostitutes, Roosevelt has to exercise extra caution to see the investigation through to its conclusion; otherwise, it would easily be buried along with similar cases. He assembles a small team to aid Moore and Kreizler, consisting of detectives trained in the nascent disciplines of fingerprinting and forensic medicine, methodologies very suspect in the 19th Century, and inadmissible in courts of law.

The novel moves at a very brisk pace, and it never loses momentum. Its carefully researched recreation of turn-of-the-century New York never hinders the story being told. Historical characters and places make brief appearances, but they are used sparingly to drive the plot forward, not as exhibits whose sole purpose is to call attention to the writer’s expertise. A reader of historical fiction could easily be pulled out of the narrative by its representation of such a strong and colorful personage as Roosevelt, who would overwhelm the story easily in the hands of a lesser writer. Here, he drives the investigation from a distance, not as a protagonist, thereby allowing the fictional characters to take center stage. With one notable and brief exception, the historically based aspects of the novel are sutbly integrated into the fictional narrative.

Of course, there would be no point in setting the novel in a particular time period unless that particular moment somehow signifies. Here, the turn of the 19th century into the 20th provides a backdrop of change, not only chronologically, but in the police procedure that the characters employ to search for their man, procedure that was controversial at the time, but which presently is standard and expected for such cases. The time period also serves to illustrate the contrasts in attitudes and living conditions in New York as it was then and New York as it is now. John Moore is a Watson-like narrator, not entirely engaging on his own, but chronicling the methodologies and eccentricities of a much greater man (Lazlo). Though the backgrounds of the characters are only lightly touched upon, their characterization speaks volumes about who they are as people. The greatest thing about Lazlo’s team is the determination and good, old-fashioned legwork they put into tracking down their suspect. This isn’t a novel that sets out to shock you a last-minute revelation (I find that such “shocking” revelations undermine the so-called capabilities of the detectives in detective fiction). This is a celebration of hard work and careful deduction, as well as innovation.

The Alienist takes the reader on an exciting ride through the back-alleys and hidden underbelly of Manhattan, and it is a suspenseful, engrossing ride from beginning to end.

-Artemis

Misconceptions About J. K. Rowling Copyright Trial

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been following J.K. Rowling’s suit against Steve Vander Ark, founder of The Harry Potter Lexicon. The website organizes Rowling’s Potter mythology into alphabetical order, so that a visitor may look up the definition of a word (and its uses in the Potter canon), or the biography of a character in the series. The Lexicon won Rowling’s Fansite Award a few years ago, and with the conclusion of the series, Vander Ark decided to go forward with plans to release the Lexicon in book form, despite the opposition of Rowling and Warner Brothers. Rowling brought suit, and the media coverage has been extensive. What is surprising is how ill-researched the coverage of the trial is. Because of lazy reporting, there are a lot of misconceptions about the trial circulating the internet. Before we examine those, let us examine the one key point that the media got right: the outcome of this trial will have legal repercussions that will influence copyright law in areas that extend far beyond Harry Potter and its fandom.

Misconception #1: J. K. Rowling is very rich. Therefore, she should allow Steve Vander Ark to share in the wealth.
This argument has not been presented by the media, but it has made its way into several boards and fan comments. Furthermore, news articles in “legitimate news sources” like The Chicago Tribune and MSNBC.com are painting Rowling as a Goliath trying to crush the vulnerable Steve Vander Ark’s David. An incredibly cliched and badly written article in The New Yorker compared Rowling and Vander Ark to Athena and Arachne, and painted a portrait of a wounded Steve, who expressed his complete befuddlement regarding Rowling’s cool reception of him at the trial. If we accept the notion that this case has wide-reaching repercussions, then it is of the utmost importance that the correct side wins, even if this side is the very wealthy Rowling and Warner Brothers. To put this into perspective, we must think of struggling authors, those who are not wealthy, who deserve protection for their work. The verdict for this case affects them, as well. Rowling’s wealth is irrelevant; if the Lexicon book infringes on her intellectual property, then she deserves protection under the law. Her bank account and Steve’s should not figure into the decision or into the coverage of the trial.

Misconception #2: J. K. Rowling is greedy. She wants to write a her own encyclopedia, and fears that Vader Ark’s book will minimize her personal profits from it.
Rowling doesn’t seem to me to be a hoarder of money. She has gifted vast sums to charities in the past. Furthermore, she has written books with the express purpose of donating their proceeds to charity (Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and Quidditch Through the Ages). She made a hand-written book, The Tales of Beedle the Bard, which also raised millions for charity. She does, indeed, intend to write a Harry Potter Encyclopedia, but the profits of this work will go to charity also. If she has any concerns about its profits (such concerns are unlikely, given the popularity of the Potter books), her concerns have nothing to do with a greedy need to increase her personal fortune.

Misconception #3: Rowling opposes any books that try to cash in on the Harry Potter phenomenon, and therefore intends to bar all related works.
If you’ve gone to a bookstore within the last couple of years, you’ve seen several Harry Potter-related books on the shelves (ex. The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Harry Potter, The Magical Worlds of Harry Potter, Harry Potter and Philosophy: If Aristotle Ran Hogwarts, The Psychology of Harry Potter, etc.). Several of these books are marked as unauthorized, meaning that they are not endorsed by Rowling, but she is nevertheless aware of their existence. In the trial (the transcripts of which can be found on The Leaky Cauldron website), these books were discussed, and it was emphasized that Rowling made no attempt to block their publication. Whatever she feels about their quality (or lack thereof), she has chosen not to pursue undue legal action against books that fall outside of her copyright protection. On the contrary, she has encouraged the publication of at least one such book, Melissa Anelli’s chronicles of Harry Potter fandom (not yet released). This brings us to our next point…

Misconception #4: Steve Vander Ark’s book is protected under Fair Use, a legal clause that allows for the critique, analysis, parody and general discourse surrounding someone else’s work.
Fair Use is a wonderful thing. Without it, there would be no film reviews, no book discussions, no parody shows and no resources to include in our academic papers. Several people share The Chicago Tribune’s opinion that:

“A Rowling-Warner Brothers victory could make potential commentators think twice about doing a book on a cultural phenomenon, such as “The Sopranos” or ” American Idol.” Conversely, if RDR wins, they would have more leeway to write commentaries, references and parodies.

The concern is so great that the Right to Write Foundation has donated tens of thousands of dollars to RDR Books (Vander Ark’s publishers, and the actual defendants of the suit), stating on their website:

The case has implications for anyone who comments on a book, song or other creative work on Facebook or YouTube, lawyers say. It also will help define how much control authors have over their characters, according to legal experts. “This is an example of an author trying to control every commentary about her works,” said David Hammer, one of Rapoport’s attorneys. “If it’s successful, scholarship and even playful commentary on literature that’s under copyright will be awfully difficult.”

Notice that the “legal expert” they quoted is one in the employ of Rapoport, owner of RDR Books. Also, notice that both these sources failed to acknowledge the fact that Rowling HAS ALLOWED publication of Potter-related books in the past, even if she does not actively endorse them. This has led to the misconception that Rowling opposes all such works. On the contrary, Rowling has a history of supporting anti-censorship organizations. Also, unlike other authors such as Anne Rice, Rowling has allowed and encouraged internet fanfiction featuring her characters (ex. The Sugar Quill). Her concern is not with Potter-related books in general, but with the Lexicon in particular, because it literally uses her words. This is not a case concerning a book that analyzes Rowling’s work, and brings its own set of ideas to the table (an example of such a book is the excellent Harry Potter and Philosophy, as well as the other works mentioned above). This is a case concerning a book that takes Rowling’s work, word for word, and rearranges it without bringing new content that would qualify the Lexicon as an original text. To add insult to injury, The Leaky Cauldron reports that the Lexicon book does not even cite the sources of the information that it is presenting. If Steve Vander Ark were a college student, he would fail any project that lacked such critical citations, and there are indications that he knew the endeavor was a shady one. Initially, he had refused to publish his Lexicon, precisely because of copyright concerns, and when he agreed to RDR Books’ offer, he demanded a clause that would compel RDR Books to pay all legal fees in case of a lawsuit.

Misconception #5: Rowling promoted the Lexicon website, and gave it a Fansite Award. In the trial, she called the Lexicon a “sloppy” text. Why is she so inconsistent?
Here, I will admit my limitations in the area of law, and express confusion as to why the Lexicon’s quality was brought up at trial. I don’t see whether its being great text or shoddy text matters, so long as it is Vander Ark’s text. I can say, however, that there is a huge difference between presenting the Lexicon as a free website and publishing it for +$25 a copy. Clearly, the difference here is the Vander Ark has now entered a situation in which he seeks to profit from Rowling’s work, something he was not doing with the website. This is the equivalent of taking a piece of Harry Potter fanfiction and releasing it in book form. Actually, it’s worse than that, since the fanfiction would presumably be an original story, created by the new author, which is more than we can say about Vander Ark’s Lexicon.

My reaction to the suit is clearly pro-Rowling. Legally, no one should profit from someone else’s work, period. This opinion does not stem from a blind devotion to her, but from a concern about the protection of intellectual property and copyright. Let us remember that copyright was established to protect the artist/creator and to ensure that he can benefit from his work and continue to create. If creators are not protected this way, then anyone can steal their work, and they would lose significant resources necessary for their continued creation of new works. It is surprising to me that any author, or any organization that seeks to promote writers, would support the work of a man who threatening the very core of copyright protection, something that authors should hold dear. I also expected that the press, when covering the case, would take care to research it more thoroughly. One can only hope that the verdict of the trial is a fair one, not one based on such a lack of integrity as the press has displayed in its coverage of it.

-Artemis

Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell

Susanna Clarke’s debut novel Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell is an incredibly ambitious undertaking. Within approxamitely 800 pages, Clarke brings to life an alternate history of England, replete with wry humor, vivid and horrific imagery and hundreds of footnotes citing dozens of obscure (and, of course, fictional) magical texts. As the title suggests, the novel’s primary focus is the uneasy relationship between the two eponymous magicians, but it is to Clarke’s credit that this relationship occurs in a world which she has populated with equally interesting and detailed characters.

The story does not begin with Strange or Norrell, but with an England that has seen the rise and fall of magic within its boudaries. In the Dark Ages, the Raven King brought magic into England, thereby playing a crucial role in the foundation of the country. As the centuries passed, magic saw a great decline, and by the 19th century (the setting of the novel), it is not practised at all. People have forgotten how to perform magic, and they study it only as a sort of history. Enter Mr. Gilbert Norrell, who wishes to bring magic back into England, to aid the nation in its war against the French. Norrell becomes an overnight celebrity, despite his lack of social skills, and his great aversion to parties and human interaction. An avid hoarder of books and knowledge, Norrell is very much opposed to sharing magic with anyone, but he is immediately charmed by one Jonathan Strange, a young, talented magician. The two characters are a study in contrast. Where Norrell is humorless, unfriendly, and cautious, Jonathan is full of ironic wit, charm and recklessness. It is therefore no surprise to anyone when the two have a falling out. The interesting thing about these two protagonists is that they are so flawed. Norrell is simultaneously greatly talented and and incredibly petty, while Jonathan’s cheek, though charming, can easily slip into a magnificent arrogance that endangers everyone around him. Despite their differences in character, their obsession with magic is all-consuming in both, and they suffer great losses for it.

The novel is paced slowly, and anyone searching for a quick fix of dueling wizards, thunderbolts and battling armies of otherworldly creatures would be served best elsewhere. Unlike most modern writers, Clarke takes the time to linger on details and observations that are not action-based. Her prose purposely mimicks that of a 19th century novel, with its longer descriptions of characters and places as well as its old-fashioned spelling of words (ex. “”chuse”). Her hilarious observations into human nature bring to mind Jane Austen while her vast “bibliography” of magical history (the aforementioned “footnotes” add a touch of authenticity to the other fabricated material) makes for an entirely realized world in the style of Tolkien’s Middle Earth. For most of the book’s length, however, the reader will not be treated to battles and wars, or even magic, since the task before the two protagonists is to bring it back from the brink of extinction. The novel reads like Dickens or Poe, not like Eragon (and thank goodness for that!).

Although Jonathan Strange has been described by some as fantasy horror, the terrors that Clarke presents are not explicit in nature. Rather, they are like nightmares forgotten upon waking: there is a sense of feeling unnerved, without an ability to understand why, as the source of our fears is banished to the periphery of our consciousness, where we can’t locate it. The sense of fright in Strange can be described more accurately as dread, for the reader begins to understand, much more than the characters do, that things are about to get very dark, indeed. Nevertheless, there are some magnificently haunting scenes interspersed throughout this otherwise understated novel: the rise of the dead during the Napoleonic Wars, the statues of London coming to life and bearing witness to all the crimes they’ve seen over the centuries, and empty ships made of water menacing a harbor, just to name a few. The suspense is built subtly and slowly, but the patient reader will be rewarded with an epic climax that brings all the characters into play, and makes the entire journey a most memorable one. Fantasy fans will find this a worthy addition to their bookshelves.

-Artemis

My Boy Jack

“Have you news of my boy Jack?”
Not this tide.
“When d’you think that he’ll come back?”
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.
“Has any one else had word of him?”
Not this tide.
For what is sunk will hardly swim,
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

“Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?”
None this tide,
Nor any tide,
Except he did not shame his kind—
Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide.

Then hold your head up all the more,
This tide,
And every tide;
Because he was the son you bore,
And gave to that wind blowing and that tide!

Rudyard Kipling was a staunch supporter of British imperialism, who advocated the philosophy of “The White Man’s Burden”, a belief that it was the duty of first world nations to form a system of satellite countries which would be under the care and administration of the parent country. This, Kipling and other imperialists believed, was of benefit to both parent and child, bringing stability to both. In practice, the policy of imperialism served as a way for military powers to exploit the resources of weaker nations. Nevertheless, many men considered it their duty to go abroad and advance the interests of their empire (in this case, the British Empire). From that mindframe, it was not surprising that Rudyard Kipling supported England’s entrance into World War I, nor is it surprising that he had a high expectation that his son John would play a pivotal role in that war, thereby distinguishing himself to a degree commensurate with his station.

My Boy Jack, adapted by actor David Haig for television from his stage play of the same title, focuses on the Kipling family during the First World War. John Kipling was rejected by the army and the navy on account of his extremely poor eyesight, but his famous father used his considerable influence to get him in. Because of his father’s high status, John was placed in charge of a company of men, most of them older than he. By 1915, John was preparing to take his men to see real combat in the fields of France, where he would fight in the Battle of Loos just one day after his eighteenth birthday.

As Jack, Dan Radcliffe effectlively conveys both the uncertainty of inexperience and the determination to distinguish himself apart from his famous father. Several of his scenes stand out vividly, like his departure from home, when he articulates his fears regarding the war for the first time. There’s also a scene later on when he powders a soldier’s infected feet, soothing them so that the soldier may enter battle more comfortably. This soldier later returns to describe Jack as “gentle”, and the same could be said of Radcliffe’s performance. He is not commanding attention by barking orders or making grand speeches. His characterization is quiet and unassuming.

Kim Catrall and Carey Mulligan play the ladies of the Kipling family: Mrs. Carrie Kipling and Bird Kipling. Both women, though supportive of the war effort, disapprove of Rudyard’s decision to send Jack into active combat. They fear for the boy’s safety in light of his vision problem, and hold Rudyard personally responsible for anything that might happen to Jack on the front. Catrall brings a quiet intensity to the role which is completely engrossing, slowly growing from soft-spoken wife to a woman determined to find her son and bring him home. She could easily have gone overboard, with tears, with rage, with frustration, but she doesn’t, and her quiet anger and resentment is more effective and more realistic than any more overt show of emotion. Carey Mulligan (who was wonderfully featured in the critically-acclaimed “Blink” episode of Doctor Who), does similarly wonderful, heartbreaking work, but with very limited screentime. Since Bird is established early on as the person closest to Jack, it doesn’t make sense that her character is so ill-explored.

Of course, the play and the film are mostly centered on Rudyard Kipling himself, and David Haig does a wonderful job of writing and portraying the conflicting emotions that Kipling felt during this difficult period of his life. It would be too easy to make Kipling an overbearing, tyrannical father who sent his son as a sacrificial lamb to WWI. The truth of the matter was, Kipling loved his son, and Jack was as keen to join the army as his father was to see him there. Even after he learns of the tragedy of the Battle of Loos, Haig’s Kipling still fervently tries to hold on to his belief that the war is glorious, despite the obvious coflict going on in his heart at the thought of his son’s presence there.

Ultimately, My Boy Jack offers no easy answers, beyond the fact that the British were woefully ill-prepared to go to war when they did. In fact, the movie is not really about Jack, but about his family’s reactions to his absence. On this level, the film feels incomplete. It ends during the war itself, with no time to establish the long-term tensions that would exist in the Kipling home. The play has an additional act which takes the story into the beginning of World War II, placing the sacrifices of the first war into a greater perspective. This serves also to explore the changed relationships in the Kipling home, to give us a more complete telling of the tale, as it were. Since the television adaptation lacks this third act, it seems unfinished, a great set-up without a sense of resolution. Nevertheless, it is worth watching for its great performances and writing.

My Boy Jack is available in DVD.

-Artemis

The Orphanage (El Orfanato)

Cuando me preguntaban de que era El Orfanato, yo decia que El Orfanato es Peter Pan, contado desde el punto de vista de la madre.-Sergio G. Sanchez, Escritor

When people asked me what The Orphanage was about, I would tell them The Orphanage is Peter Pan, told from the point of view of the mother.-Sergio G. Sanchez, Screenwriter

Juan Antonio Bayona’s The Orphanage is a haunted house story, similar in tone to The Others or The Innocents (with a hint of Bunny Lake is Missing thrown in), centered on the seclusion of a grand manor and the terrors found therein. Because this setting is so familiar in both literature and film, audiences may be wary of traveling this familiar road for yet another time, which would be a shame, since The Orphanage definitely is worth watching for its considerable merits.

Belen Rueda stars as Laura, a woman who returns to the orphanage where she spent her childhood and makes it a home for her family, husband Carlos and son Simon. From the moment they settle into the house, Simon makes friends with children that only he can see. Laura and Carlos dismiss these imaginary friends as a phase in the development of an only child. One day, during an open house celebration, Simon disappears, and the film chronicles Laura’s efforts to find her son.

The film was produced by Guillermo del Toro, and consequently has been compared to del Toro’s critically acclaimed Pan’s Labyrinth. I think this comparison is faulty, for the themes of The Orphanage bear a much stronger resemblance to The Devil’s Backbone, del Toro’s 2001 horror film about a ghostly haunting at a home for boys orphaned by the Spanish civil war. All three films dwell in the horrors of childhood, in the worlds that only children understand and only children can access.

The main difference for The Orphanage is that the child is NOT the protagonist. We see mysteries of childhood through the eyes of an adult, one who is desperate to unlock them so that she may find her child. There are beautiful poignant themes of eternal youth and never growing up, themes that are highlighted by references within the film to Peter Pan, the boy who would not grow up (in much the same way that Pan‘s Labyrinth referenced Alice in Wonderland) and to Wendy, the girl who told great stories and chose to become an adult. These references are both spoken and visual, most notably in the great window through which Peter flies in to hear Wendy’s stories, a window that has a counterpart in Laura‘s home, where Laura spends much of her time telling stories to Simon.

The film is beautifully rendered, its muted colors emphasizing the isolation and the sadness that the orphanage has seen over the years. The direction is quietly effective, as fear is built through subtlety and tension, and not through cheap, loud thrills (with one notable exception). The dark shadows of the orphanage conceal the horrors of our collective imaginations, and the great work done with darkness is a credit to cinematographer.

Performances are stellar all around. In supporting roles, Edgar Vivar (known primarily as a comedian in the Spanish-speaking world) and Geraldine Chaplin (Charlie’s daughter, who has an impressive career of her own with wonderful supporting roles in films like Home for the Holidays and Hable Con Ella) are immensely effective as a pair of parapsychologists who are engaged by Laura to explore the mysteries of the house in one of the film‘s most suspenseful sequences. Fernando Cayo provides a great counterpoint as Laura’s husband, the film’s skeptic, who tries to draw Laura away from her grief, to help her get on with her life. Ultimately, it is Belen Rueda who must carry the film on her shoulders, and her performance as Laura is most worthy of praise, never descending into unnecessary histrionics, but always keeping at the forefront Laura’s heartbreak over the loss of her child.

The Orphanage is a film that will stay with you after you watch it. Though it is effective as a horror film, it never forgets the human characters that lie at the center of its story, and their anguish and sadness, their fleshed-out humanity, make us care about them much more than we could ever care about the assembly-line characters of most modern horror films. It is the characters that will haunt us after we watch The Orphanage, and that is great testament to the power of its storytelling, making this film a wonderful addition to the genre.

The Orphanage is available on DVD this week.

-Artemis

Spring Awakening

The smash hit of the 2007 season, Spring Awakening, walked away with the most statues at last year’s Tony awards. It has been praised as the defining musical of our generation; a fusion of rock and musical theatre with a hearty helping of sexuality thrown into the mix. With a cast of relative unknowns, most below the drinking age, the show has quickly become a staple for tourist entertainment on the Great White Way. But does the show really live up to its own hype or is it just the new critical darling?

Spring Awakening, is based off of the 19^th century play, of the same name by Frank Wedekind. Just as in the play, the musical follows the story of three young teenagers: Melchior, Wendla and Moritz on their journey from the naïve innocence of pre-adolescence to the grim realities of adulthood. The main story is of Melchior’s study of human sexuality, he approaches it almost as a scientist and philosopher, gaining knowledge in the biological acts and dismissing the psychology behind them. With this knowledge of the human body, Melchior is seen as an authority on the subject to his peers which gives him power but at the same time ostracizes him from his more immature classmates. His unstable and academically challenged friend, Moritz, is both intrigued and appalled by Melchior’s “discoveries” in an essay he gives to him. While Wendla, their childhood friend, unwillingly becomes the specimen for Melchior’s quest of understanding his own physical desires. Finally there is Ilse a girl their own age and a free spirit without ties to place or constrains to the society that has a hold over the other three (Ilse’s character is an archetype which found its way into many of Wedekind’s plays). Many of their friends and classmates are also briefly highlighted in the story, often with full scenes, showing different examples of their own sexual awakenings.

The play itself is broken up into a series of vignettes, over the course of about a year in these characters’ lives. The musical follows this rather disjointed structure and throws in musical sequences during and in-between these scenes. As an adaptation the musical sticks very closely to its source material but at the same time suffers from the same problems. We, as an audience, never get close enough to these characters to fully appreciate or even understand them. This is primarily because they are archetypes more so than actual fleshed out beings. Ilse is much like the hippies of the 1960s. She is sexually free, yet still maintains an innocence about her. Wendla, on the other hand, represents the purity, naivety and innocence associated with childhood. Moritz is like one on the brink experience. He portrays the fear of leaving childhood behind and the sexual curiosity of adolescence.

Since characterization is basically absent from the source material, the musical also leaves it by the wayside. The exception to this being Moritz, who seems to be the only one with any sort of story or character arc. Other characters come and go so fast that it seems pointless to have them present in the first place. Some are generally more interesting than the main trio that you are left questioning WHY they weren’t explored in more depth. Some of this does have to do with the actors, but the majority of the problem stems from the libretto. The creative team ended up being too literal in translating a play based in expressionism to the realism of the musical stage. The play is designed to be dissected by the audience as a comment and expression of an idea(s). It was never meant to be performed as an imitation of reality. Granted, a musical by its nature is not entirely rooted in reality, but its presentation is. You are meant to view it as if what is going on is really happening. The point of theatre today is to forget that you’re watching a piece of fiction. All of which is why the show falls short of its goal. The audience can not be grabbed when there is nothing to cling to or care about in the first place.

The score, written by Duncan Sheik (who blew up in the 90s with his hit single “Barely Breathing”), is a wonderful modern rock score; probably one of the best in recent years. However, except for a few reprises, there is no musical continuity to the show. You could take all of the songs and reorder them and the show could still work. Very few of the songs really explain much about the characters, what they’re feeling or that moment of the story in general. Many of them are too interchangeable and could mean something coming from nearly any character in the piece. As a “book musical” the show just doesn’t work. Instead of forwarding the story, 90% of the songs actually stop or interrupt it. The “gimmick” of this show is that these teenagers who are supposed to exist in the 19^th century step out of their world into ours just with the use of a microphone. The songs are supposed to exist in another time. They are not only representative of the character’s thoughts but as a reflection of the youth of today and how, after over 100 years, we haven’t changed. During the group songs ensemble members, sitting in modern day dress within the onstage audience, help to bridge this generational gap by pulling out microphones and singing along with the rest of the cast. This unfortunately gets old rather quickly and has a sense of trying to be edgy without actually being it.

Jonathan Groff carries the show as the quick-witted Melchior. His voice is standard Broadway fair and like the majority of his fellow male cast members the score showcases his talents well. Groff’s acting is good, it’s clear that he has an understanding of the character but Melchior is just so unlikable that it’s really hard to root for him. It’s clear that Groff will be going places in the future, but I still believe that this was not a role or performance that was Tony worthy. As Moritz, John Gallagher, Jr. was able to create a full character despite the limitations of the script not only through dialogue but with his whole being. He steals every scene he is in and his powerful punk rock vocals perfectly compliment the score. The audience feels for Moritz and his struggle. He provides not only the humor but also the heart of the story. Gallagher’s Tony nomination and subsequent win was very much well deserved.

Lea Michele plays the doomed Wendla, a young girl searching for understanding of the changes going on around her. Michele has a rather pretty popish Broadway voice but unfortunately that’s about the extent of her abilities in this show. Her acting is almost caricature of a supposedly typical 19^th century youth. Sometimes her acting choices make you wonder if Wendla is just really naïve or perhaps mentally challenged. The character is pretty much manipulated by nearly everyone she encounters that Michele doesn’t end up having much to do but play dumb. As the other female lead, Lauren Pitchard makes a mark with her unique sound. Her voice is like a cross between Fiona Apple and Nora Jones and much like Gallagher the score suits her. Unfortunately that’s where the positives end with her. Pritchard’s line delivery is “high school theatre” quality at best and her important second act monologue to Moritz is cringing to watch, let alone listen to. She comes off as incredibly flat and lifeless opposite Gallagher’s Moritz; the only character she really interacts with. Subsequent actresses have been able to make these scenes between Ilse and Moritz work but they unfortunately lack Pitchard’s unique and almost character appropriate vocal stylings.

The ensemble of the original cast comes off as very unbalanced. The boys, who make up more of the minor characters and many solo sections in the various group numbers, steal the spotlight. Many of their characters provide some of the best, and much needed comedic relief moments in the entire show. The girls unfortunately are left with nearly zero character development or purpose, except for following around Wendla in a handful of scenes. The exception of this being Lilli Cooper who portrays the abused Martha, a character that unfortunately suffers from a severe lack of development or real purpose. Lilli basically stops the first act with the disturbing “The Dark I Know Well”, her unique voice and great acting chops prove to be another wasted opportunity by the writers for another character outside of the main four.

Spring Awakening ends up being two hours of wasted opportunities and unfulfilled expectations. I didn’t go in hoping to hate it or love it but the fact is it doesn’t live up to its hype. I was entertained and some aspects I was very much in awe. But the problems within the show, unfortunately, overshadow the rather brilliant positives. In my opinion, the book should have been scrapped and the show should have been a revue of Sheik’s music with a vague subplot; i.e. the recent revival of Jacques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris.

This show clearly caters to the younger generation. Its publicity campaign is a testament to that fact. However the general public needs to understand that Spring Awakening is not “God’s gift” to musical theatre despite what its producers and creative team have gone on and on about. In reality there is nothing very new about it. It wouldn’t even exist were it not for rock musicals like HAIR or RENT which paved the way years (and even decades) before and did so without the glaring problems in structure and format. There is no shame in loving this show but see it for what it is, not what it isn’t. Is it entertaining? Yes. Are there good performances? Yes. Is it reason for the rebirth and reformation of the future of the Broadway musical? I sincerely doubt it.

-Lotte

Across the Universe

When the premise of Julie Taymor’s Across the Universe is described to people for the first time, many see similarities to Bazz Luhrmann‘s Moulin Rouge or the stage musical HAIR. Like Moulin Rouge, AtU takes a series of existing songs, and very famous ones at that, and constructs a story around them, using a highly stylized series of visuals and a vivid color palette to emphasize and enhance the artificial nature of the musical genre itself. The similarities to HAIR stem from the fact that both musicals are set in the midst of the counterculture movement, and opposition to the Vietnam War.

Across the Universe centers on the character of Jude (Jim Sturgess), a young man from Liverpool who comes to America in search of his father, and finds friendship in Princeton drop-out Max (Joe Anderson) and love with Max’s sister Lucy (Evan Rachel Wood). Despite its themes of love and war, despite its beautiful cinematography and design, despite the Beatles‘ impressive songbook, and the movie’s setting amidst one of the most tumultuous times in American history, Across the Universe does not coalesce into a great, coherent whole. It does not match the greatness of Moulin Rouge or HAIR.

To be sure, there are some great sequences, like the scene in which Max is inducted into the army to the tune of “I Want You (She’s so Heavy)” as soldiers carry the Statue of Liberty through war-torn jungles. Another imaginative number features strawberries as blood in the fields on Vietnam. The actors have great voices (something that isn‘t always the case in modern screen musicals), and the orchestrations of the songs are some of the best in the long history of Beatles re-makes. Dana Fuchs (Sadie) and Martin Luther (Jojo) have particularly strong voices. The soundtrack to the film is definitely worth buying.

Unfortunately, moments of inspiration are few, and though the songs work individually, they don’t work in conjunction with each other. Where Moulin Rouge’s storyline managed the seemingly paradoxical feat of both functioning independently of and being advanced by its music, Across the Universe feels like a series of music videos strung together. Several characters exist only to sing a specific Beatles song that bears no relevance to the barely-there plot, as if Julie Taymor were determined to cram as many Beatles songs as possible into the film. For instance, the character named Prudence appears just long enough to have the song “Dear Prudence” sung to her, then disappears from the film almost entirely. Bono and other musicians are featured in wonderful, but extraneous, numbers that halt the momentum of the film.

One of the challenges of making a counter-culture, hippies-in-a-commune film is for the filmmakers to successfully sell to the audience the group of actors onscreen as a community of people that live and spend most of their time together. In the stage version of HAIR, such a community is easily established by the fact that all members of the “tribe” are present onstage for the duration of the show, even when they are not singing or doing anything central to the plot. Such a thing is not always feasible on film, a medium in which actors are called (and paid) only as needed. Film is also a medium that typically (though not always) stresses a couple of individual characters rather than a large group of people. For the film version of HAIR, the narrative of the main characters was enhanced (though not very successfully) to create a more coherent plot, in the hopes that such a plot would compensate for the loss of the stage musical’s live experience with the “tribe.“

Across the Universe offers neither the sense of a commune nor the semi-coherence of the HAIR movie, and characterization suffers as a result. The characters make decisions for no discernable reason, other than to sing a really great tune about them. Such is the case when lovers Sadie and Jojo fight just so the audience can be treated to an awesome stage number. The fact that these characters are barely veiled representations of Janis Joplin and Jimmy Hendricks, respectively, adds to the feeling that we’re seeing a writer’s desperate mash-up of ideas instead of a carefully plotted film.

Across the Universe had all the ingredients to be a great film: a wonderful cast, great voices, a creative director, and wonderful production design. Unfortunately, its strengths are undone by sloppy writing and even worse editing. Taymor seems too close to her material to make objective choices in editing, and the film seems overlong and padded. Watching AtU, a famous quote from Michaelangelo came to mind: ““I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.” With Across the Universe, we got the marble, not the angel.

-Artemis

La Vie en Rose

La Vie en Rose stars Marion Cotillard as Edith Piaf, the famed French singer who rose from great poverty to become one of the most famous cultural icons of her time. The film chronicles Piaf’s life from childhood through her death in 1963 at age 47.

Cotillard deservedly won an Academy Award for her performance as Piaf. What is most striking about Cotillard is her ability to age with the character she’s playing. She is equally convincing as Edith in her 20s and Edith during her dying days. Though the wonderful make-up by Didier Lavergne and Jan Archibald (who also won an Oscars for their work) enhances Cotillard’s performance, the performance itself stands apart as worthy of praise. Her body, voice and her mannerisms change as Edith grows older. Furthermore, Cotillard never forgets to portray Edith the woman, as opposed to the icon. She never descends into an impersonation, a problem that many actors fall into when portraying famous figures (ex. Cate Blanchett as Katherine Hepburn in The Aviator).

Though there are many aspects of the film that are worthy of praise (most notably: the acting, make-up, cinematography and set design), the film as a whole remains problematic. Dahan’s choice to present the story out of sequence backfires; instead of innovative, it comes off as tired and serves no purpose other than to call attention to itself. The ordering of the scenes seems haphazard rather than deliberate, and the film feels fragmented as a result. There is no character, apart from Piaf, that feels fleshed out. In fact, most characters exist only to stand in the background as part of Piaf’s entourage.

The other great problem with the film is quite beyond the filmmakers’ control: anyone who has ever seen the biography of a famous entertainer will know where this film is going, even if they’ve never heard of Piaf. Countless times, we’ve seen films about talented and impoverished youths who grow up to achieve great fame and fortune, only to self-destruct through drugs and alcohol. By now, such stories have become clichéd and the audience can feel no curiosity about where it’s going. The only investment one can feel in the outcome of such films depends on the charisma of the character in question, but the disjointed nature of La Vie en Rose makes that difficult, despite Marion Cottilard’s best efforts.

Misgivings aside, the film is worth watching. The great Edith Piaf’s voice on the soundtrack is enthralling and commanding. The character and the setting are vividly brought to life, and the poignancy Edith’s life shines through, despite the film’s misses. It is a greatly flawed film, but an arresting one nonetheless.

La Vie en Rose (2007) is now on available on DVD.

-Artemis