starring John Travolta and Miley Cyrus
written by Dan Fogelman and Chris Williams & directed by Chris Williams and Byron Howard
Rated PG for some mild action and peril.
79%

Bolt (Travolta) is the canine star of a hit action show, wherein he plays the scientifically-enhanced bodyguard of Penny (Cyrus), the daughter of a genius scientist who holds the key to world domination sought by the evil, cat-loving Dr. Calico (Malcolm McDowell). The glue that seemingly holds the show together is Bolt’s earnest belief that he truly is a super-dog, living the reality of the show (and the cast and crew go to extreme lengths to keep him deluded). Unfortunately, Bolt escapes from the set one day and is mistakenly shipped across the country to New York City, still under the misapprehension that Penny is in mortal danger. Dragging a world-weary cat named Mittens (Susie Essman) and joined by a maniacally-enthusiastic hamster named Rhino (Mark Walton), Bolt sets out on the epic journey back to Hollywood.

Bolt has a lot of baggage to overcome. Namely, the fact that it has cribbed two of its major character arcs off of the Toy Story movies, and features a cast of computer-animated talking animals voiced by celebrities. In originality of conception, this movie short-changes the audience rather drastically. However, much to my surprise, I didn’t notice or care nearly as much as I thought I would. Bolt may be a cinematic retread, but it never feels lazy and only rarely seems uninspired.

We begin inside the world of Bolt’s television show, with an (extremely) extended sequence of action-driven mayhem. In a movie that is not afraid to strain credibility, perhaps the biggest stretch for the audience will be believing this cornball display is a popular prime-time drama rather than an Inspector Gadget-like Saturday morning cartoon. The animators missed a number of opportunities here to really send-up some genre conventions (though they do get a few licks in), and it seems certain that Bolt will fall into the trap of taking itself too seriously.

In making its premise seem workable, Bolt is either trying too hard or not hard enough. Sure, we might wonder why Bolt would actually think he is a super dog when he isn’t, but we’d probably have forgotten the trouble once the story moved on. Instead, they dreamed up that cockamamie business about making the dog a better actor, a fantastical ruse that requires every stunt and special effect to be carefully engineered beforehand and which allows no retakes. It is an explanation that raises more questions than it answers, opening up a yawning hole in the plot that threatened to swallow my suspension of disbelief.

The feeling happily dissipates as soon as Bolt sets paw in the Big Apple and meets the more colorful supporting cast, beginning with a trio of eccentric pigeons. Between them and the hilarious antics of Rhino, Bolt is sporting a strong comedic backbone, but it is Mittens that really steals the show in every possible way. Essman’s performance brings us one of the strongest animated sidekicks in recent memory, a firmly-grounded, three-dimensional anchor for our sympathies who invokes laughter and tears in equal measure. Perhaps this is simply the cat person in me talking, but Mittens brings the sort of heart and balance that Dory supplies in Pixar’s Finding Nemo (to cite the example that comes most readily to mind).

By the time Bolt has shed his delusions and hit the road with Mittens and Rhino, the movie really hits its stride, coasting the story comfortably (if predictably) in for a warm, cozy landing. Bolt won’t surprise, but it will most likely entertain, particularly if you are gifted with the ability of not over-thinking. There are plenty of laughs, and it equals or betters Disney’s uneven output of the last decade or so: a vast improvement over abysmal fare like Home on the Range and Chicken Little, and on-par with last year’s frivolous Meet the Robinsons (though, disappointingly, lacking the latter’s pre-feature short cartoon, which I continue to hope will become a tradition again). Here’s hoping the upward trend continues.

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starring Ben Stiller and Chris Rock
written by Etan Cohen & directed by Eric Darnell and Tom McGrath
Rated PG for some mild crude humor.
74%

Alex the Lion (Stiller), Marty the Zebra (Rock), Gloria the Hippo (Jada Pinkett Smith) and Melman the Giraffe (David Schwimmer) return in an unlooked-for sequel to 2005’s Madagascar. This time, the four friends from the New York zoo plot their return home via a cobbled-together airplane wreck flown by the militaristic penguins. Unfortunately, their craft only takes them as far as a reservation in the neighboring African continent, where they meet all sorts of new friends. The gang also runs into Alex’s long-lost father, Zuba (Bernie Mac). Zuba is thrilled that his son has returned to take his rightful place as alpha lion in charge of the community, but the evil Makunga (Alec Baldwin) has other plans.

For those of us who just can’t get enough computer-animated features starring wise-cracking animals who sound suspiciously like big-name celebrities, DreamWorks has come through once again. The studio has, during the past four years, brought us Shark Tale, Over the Hedge, Flushed Away, Bee Movie, Kung Fu Panda, and, of course, the original Madagascar. They have certainly shown that they can fill theater seats with this talking-animal shtick, but can they do anything else? However, perhaps such accusations are uncalled for. Most of the above were clever and reasonably enjoyable, and Kung Fu Panda could even be called excellent. Moreover, I have failed to mention the elephant in the room: DreamWorks’ Shrek franchise (though it, too, features a prominent talking animal). These are tangential considerations, and the Madagascar sequel deserves to be judged on its own merits within the narrower limits of the franchise.

The guiding theory behind the production of Escape 2 Africa seems to have been to bring back every element of the original (whether it makes any sense or not) and multiply it tenfold (in some cases, literally). Pretty much all of the characters have returned, including the penguins, the monkeys, and the lemurs. Even the old lady who beats up lions is back, and (in a fantastically ill-conceived move) wielding a much-expanded role as a crucial piece of the plot. In fact, everyone has their own compartmentalized subplot, only some of which work their way into the grand finale. The result is an extremely busy movie that sometimes works and sometimes doesn’t, but probably ensures the viewer at least a few segments that they can enjoy along the way.

In terms of the overarching story, if Madagascar was primarily Marty’s movie, the sequel is all about Alex, filling in some of his backstory and granting him center-stage over the other animals. Despite obvious (and, honestly, superficial) similarities to The Lion King, this works fairly well. In any case, the supporting cast walks away with the show. Alec Baldwin voices a charismatic villain, Sacha Baron Cohen’s King Julien is actually more funny than grating, and the real stars are still the penguins, whose ingenuity and focus continue to provide the lion’s share of laughs.

Madagascar: Escape 2 Africa is reminiscent of Shrek 2 in that both attempt to improve on the simplicity of the original by adding more noise, more pop culture references, more of everything. The result will probably play better with contemporary audiences, but at the cost of providing a much emptier spectacle. Then again, perhaps the movie doesn’t aspire to any higher purpose than empty, transient fun, in which case it succeeds tolerably well. But, for the record, I still don’t understand the “Move It, Move It” thing.

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starring Angelina Jolie and John Malkovich
written by J. Michael Straczynski & directed by Clint Eastwood
Rated R for some violent and disturbing content, and language.
94%

Christine Collins (Jolie) is a single mother working as a telephone operator in Los Angeles in 1928. Her life revolves around her young son Walter, and when he disappears from their home one quiet Saturday while she is covering someone else’s shift, she is devastated. Matters go from bad to worse when the police claim to have found her son in Illinois and bring her another boy claiming to be Walter. Christine is immediately certain that the boy does not belong to her, but the police are insistent. Soon it becomes apparent that Christine’s hope of finding the real Walter depends on her resolve to first convince a conspiracy of corrupt city officials that the case is not closed.

Changeling is a horror movie, an appalling, often-terrifying reenactment of an instance of institutional abuse that would strain audience credulity beyond the breaking point were it not based on true events. Truth truly is stranger than fiction, if only because it can afford to be. The film is difficult to watch, but impossible to look away from; an intense and immersive human drama told with skill and sympathy. Fans of Clint Eastwood’s other films will recognize and appreciate his familiar style immediately. The first thing the viewer notices about Changeling is its top-shelf production values. The film immediately evokes its setting with a stunning attention to detail that goes a long way towards establishing the plausibility of the account. It feels like we are in 1928 from the very beginning, and the film never really loses its sense of time and place.

The supporting cast is very strong. Don’t get me wrong, Angelina Jolie is great in the lead, reminding us why she won an Oscar eight years ago, but this is truly a group effort. Jeffrey Donovan, as Captain J.J. Jones, is creepily, callously, complacently evil in a way that I loved to hate. He walks a line so fine that it is never really clear whether he was deliberately deceptive or dismissively arrogant in his dealings with Christine. In contrast there is Michael Kelly’s heroic detective character, who uncovers a shocking truth and cannot bring himself to stay silent about it despite the insistence of his superior. And then there is the seemingly ubiquitous Amy Ryan, who just wrapped up her guest stint on “The Office” and who pops up here as a hooker that Christine meets in the psych ward. And the list goes on.

There is a particularly magnificent scene after Christine has been thrown unceremoniously into an asylum after she continues to publicly insist that the police have made a mistake. Having been warned that, regardless of how sane she tries to act, the doctor in charge will interpret her emotions as some sort of disorder, she sits nervously across the desk from him for an interview. He asks her questions, barely looking at her, and she attempts to answer them as normally as she can. He grunts and scribbles on his pad, then asks another question. Another answer, another grunt, more scribbling. The tension is fantastic, and when he goes on the attack, the point is well-made: almost anyone admitted to an asylum can be made to appear as though they belong there.

Eastwood winds up our emotions, particularly rage and frustration, beyond the breaking point until we are desperate for some sort of catharsis. This does finally arrive, but only partially. Justice may be done, but there can be no true comfort for the agony of this separation. Many of the loose ends are tied up as the movie slides past the two-hour mark, but the knots are loose and a little unsatisfying. Disorganized rather than neat, just like real life (which this is, of course, closely based on). This lack of “closure” (for lack of a better word) is a necessary weakness, but Changeling occasionally feels scattered in other respects as well, as though there were too much going on in the margins. Or perhaps as though the events taking place in the margins ought to be more central. The screenplay in general is excellent, despite the occasional misstep (for instance, the film’s final line is such a hopelessly-overused cliche that the spell was nearly broken).

There is also a completely mystifying scene near the end where Christine enters an Oscar pool at work, placing her bet on dark horse It Happened One Night to win Best Picture. She turns the radio up as the announcement is made, and squeals with glee to herself when her favorite takes the award. A few moments later, the phone rings and the film moves on, leaving us to wonder why the Oscars had a cameo. I will not assume that Eastwood or Jolie are dropping broad hints for the consideration of AMPAS. Perhaps this is merely an affectionate bit of nostalgia from a filmmaker who has made his own mark on Oscar history. Nevertheless, it is odd.

Changeling is riveting as a portrait of a time when sexism was ingrained in every facet of society, and it plays with that idea without making an easy, 20/20 hindsight condemnation. This is simply the way things were, way back when, and this is the sort of thing that happened as a result. I enjoy and appreciate the way Eastwood has of drawing these stories out and treating them with sensitivity, but also without pulling any of his punches. Changeling may not be the finest example of a Clint Eastwood film (it feels entirely too movie-like, which is partially a casting issue), but it is still a quality film and well-worth seeing.

Posted in Reviews