Animation

Luca: Summer Loving, Glazed by the Past

Jeremy BeckReviews
A scene from Pixar's Luca

Luca is a shape-shifting sea monster, and Luca itself is something of a transformer. It is by turns (and sometimes all at once) a coming-of-age story, an underdog sports movie, an ode to canonical Italian cinema, and a heartfelt fable of tolerance. That it ably fulfills all of these roles without succumbing to chaos or incongruity is a testament to the dexterity of its storytelling and the fluidity of its construction. It doesn’t so much offer something for everyone as it provides everything for someones—namely, for those audiences who hunger for art that is simultaneously funny, kinetic, sweet, and affirming.

It is not—and with every new Pixar release, the conversation tends to focus on what it isn’t rather than what it is—terribly imaginative. Small in scale and gentle in heart, Luca lacks the bold ingenuity that has (ahem) animated some of the studio’s more impressive recent works: the metaphysical philosophizing of Soul, the existential angst of Toy Story 4, the triumphant razzle-dazzle of Incredibles 2, the anthropomorphized emotions of Inside Out. But not every Pixar picture can be expected to stretch or redefine an entire genre, and besides, lamenting Luca’s familiarity risks diminishing some of its considerable charm. Here is a playful, gorgeous, heart-warming adventure that tells its tender story with craft and conviction. That it occasionally resembles other movies seems a small price to pay. Read More

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Soul: It’s All About Goals. Or Is It?

Jeremy BeckReviews
Jamie Foxx in Pixar's "Soul"

There may not be a venue explicitly called Imagination Land in Pete Docter’s latest feature, but there’s still plenty of innovation and ingenuity. Soul, the new movie from the Pixar standout, is another triumph, an inspired mix of vibrant animation, rich storytelling, and powerful themes. It asks big, probing questions—about life and death, art and commerce, work and pleasure—while also making generous room for ticking-clock suspense and broad comedy. This is a sweeping metaphysical adventure tale, complete with fart jokes.

The signature achievement of Soul is its conception of the Great Before, a vast supernatural laboratory of sorts where human personalities are forged before birth. Advancements in technology have allowed animators to pack the frame with infinite minutiae, but Docter’s approach here is spare and restrained. The realm he’s conceived is gently pastoral, a luminous land of rolling hills, peaceful meadows, and placid lakes. The blue-and-purple color scheme is similarly serene, smoothly shifting between various hues of turquoise and lavender. And the world’s essential openness—its sense of being permanently incomplete—feels not like a failure of vision, but like a gift from creator to viewer. Some fictional environments are overwhelming in their detail. Docter lets you fill in the blanks. Read More

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Onward: Dwindling Magic, But What of Imagination?

Jeremy BeckReviews
Tom Holland and Chris Pratt voice brothers in Pixar's "Onward"

The world is gripped by existential despair, so what’s better to capture our collective terror than a Pixar movie? The wizardly corporation owns a patent on brightly colored, child-friendly entertainments that nevertheless speak to adults’ bone-deep fears. Of course, Onward, the newest adventure from the preeminent purveyor of computer-generated animation, isn’t about the coronavirus, no matter how tempted we might be to perceive everything through the lens of that horrifying pandemic. But it is about people—and a world—crippled with fear and self-doubt, struggling to adapt to unforeseen circumstances. That it’s also a playful children’s movie with a happy ending comes as something of a relief, even if it also currently feels like wishful thinking.

But enough about impending global catastrophe. Besides, there’s a more obvious metaphor to be found in Onward. At one point, its two brothers, Ian (voiced by Tom Holland) and Barley (Chris Pratt), squabble over navigation, disputing how best to reach their destination. Ian, the more pragmatic of the pair, insists on taking the freeway, a straight shot to their goal. Barley, a fantasist with either grand ideas or delusions of grandeur, instead suggests that they follow the Path of Peril, a twisting road fraught with danger and uncertainty. The freeway is of course the logical choice, but in Barley’s view, it is the eccentricity of the Path of Peril—its literal and figurative curves—that makes traveling it worthwhile. Read More

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The Lion King: I Just Can’t Wait to Be Pointlessly Remade

Jeremy BeckReviews
This is a lion in the movie "The Lion King".

In the new Lion King, the circle of life soothes us all, but especially the Walt Disney Company’s shareholders. Made a quarter-century after the original enchanted audiences with its blend of Shakespeare, music, and fart jokes, this remake takes pains to follow the unwinding path that Carmen Twillie sang about all those years ago. Yet rather than traversing a harmonious circle, this Lion King progresses in a straight line, one pointed squarely back toward the past. In our present era of Disney dominance, everything new is old again.

Directed by Jon Favreau, and taking place in the increasingly populous cinematic netherworld that lies between animation and live action, this new Lion King aspires to remind nostalgic viewers of its predecessor as bluntly and repeatedly as possible. But it is notably different in one respect: It’s longer. Favreau’s version clocks in at 118 minutes, a full half hour greater than the hand-drawn classic. You might think that Favreau and his screenwriter, Jeff Nathanson (whose odd career includes three Spielberg movies, plus a bunch of inferior sequels), would use this additional time to meaningfully expand the film’s universe, perhaps by dynamizing its action or supplementing its story. But while there are a couple of new songs—and while the shot-for-shot concerns that sprang up last year prove unfounded—none of the added material carries any spark of originality. Favreau hasn’t made a movie so much as a museum artifact—a weird, faded echo of a time gone by. Read More

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Toy Story 4: Growing Old and Living Young, All Over Again

Jeremy BeckReviews
Woody, Bo Peep, and Duke Caboom in "Toy Story 4"

Toy Story 4 is a movie about fear, loneliness, pain, disillusionment, and loss. Your kids will love it.

You might too, if perhaps not quite as much as you adored its predecessors. It’s been 24 years since the computer wizards at Pixar released an 81-minute feature about playthings that leap to life when their owners leave the room, launching a mega brand and revolutionizing the concept of animation filmmaking in the process. Now the studio’s longest-running franchise (take that, Cars!), the Toy Story movies remain durable thanks to their nervy fusion of reliable adventure tropes and provocative philosophizing, the way they make you take stock of your life and yourself even as they place you back in touch with your inner child. In terms of raw entertainment, Toy Story 4 isn’t quite as boisterous as prior installments; the new director, Josh Cooley (one of the writers of the stupendous Inside Out), is certainly capable, but his set pieces lack the series’ trademark Rube Goldbergian complexity or eye-popping gusto. But the screenplay, by Andrew Stanton and Stephany Folsom, teems with ideas, challenges, and possibilities. The result is a movie that may not ascend beyond infinity, but at least gets most of the way there. Read More

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