The Wrestler (USA 2008, Drama/Sport), Writer: Robert D. Siegel; Director: Darren Aronofsky

When I saw Milk last month, there was a trailer for The Wrestler. It began with an excerpt from a Newsweek review of the film: “Witness the resurrection of Mickey Rourke.”

For anyone who follows Hollywood filmmaking, the casting of Rourke as Randy “The Ram” Robinson in The Wrestler carries a lot of impact. Rourke has been out of the film loop for some time, largely because of his reputation as being a nightmare to work with. Bringing him back in a role about a performer who’s fallen out of favour and wants desperately to make a comeback lends The Wrestler deeper meaning and stronger resonance—a classic case of art imitating life.

Randy was a pro wrestler who hit the big time in the late 80s, but who now scrapes together rent for his trailer working at a deli and fighting in grungy New Jersey gyms. The Wrestler opens with a montage of newspaper clippings from Randy’s heyday. And then we cut to him sitting in a plastic chair in the corner of a small, drab change room. It’s 20 years later. He’s up against the wall, but his back is to us, and to the world.

Randy still lives for wrestling. In fact, he’s holding on for dear life. A doll in his image hangs from his car’s rearview mirror, and he plays an ancient wrestling video game featuring The Ram. But when Randy suffers a heart attack after a particularly brutal fight, he steps back from the sport that has consumed him and tries to repair some of the damage to his battered heart—physically and metaphorically. He stops taking drugs. He reaches out to his estranged daughter Stephanie (Evan Rachel Wood). And he pursues a romance with Cassidy (Marisa Tomei), a stripper who is also reeling from the blows that time has dealt her body, and who struggles with the realization that she can’t keep living the life she once knew.

When Randy says that wrestling is all he does, he’s talking about the sport. But what he’s actually wrestling with has little, if anything, to do with a roped-in ring. What really seems to be at the centre of his world is the emptiness he tries to fill with wrestling. The sport is his drug, a way of blocking out his pain. Having seen Aronofsky’s Requiem for a Dream (where characters succumb to heroin and weight loss pills) and heard a lot about Pi (a film that documents a man’s obsession with numbers and his resulting mental deterioration), I’m clueing in to the fact that addiction, and its powers of delusion and destruction, are key themes for the director.

Early in The Wrestler, we see how much care Randy takes to maintain the appearance of his former life. He jabs himself with steroids; bleaches his long, straggly hair; climbs into tanning beds. He’s killing himself for an audience that no longer cares, but he finds it nearly impossible to stop. Randy tries to find himself outside the ring, but when he can’t make it work he slips back into the façade, played out in a gruesome scene with the deli meat slicer. He can handle blood and broken bones; it’s the pain of real life he can’t bear. As he tells Cassidy on his way back inside the ring: “The only place I get hurt is out there.”

Although The Wrestler is more conventional stylistically than the quasi-experimental Pi, or Requiem for a Dream with its trippy editing, Aronofsky’s originality and willingness to take risks are still evident throughout the film. His camera often follows Randy from behind, watching as he makes his way into the ring, into work, into life. In this way, we’re stuck in Randy’s past and in the way he imagines the world. At one point, we hear the sounds of cheering fans as he makes his way down the long corridor to start his first day of work behind the deli counter.

Aronofsky makes other intriguing, very effective choices. The clever editing of the most brutal wrestling scene (which features barbed wire and staple guns) actually let me think I was off the hook, before I realized the worst was yet to come. And the film’s final shot is bold, brave and shocking. I might just be impressed enough to considering renting Aronofsky’s much-maligned film The Fountain.

The Wrestler is out in most major cities and (for you Ottawa kids) opens at the ByTowne in two weeks. See it. Yes, the film features disturbing violence that may be hard to stomach. But its blows are softened by the fact that the wrestlers continually check in with each other to make sure they haven’t gone too far. The film is somber and depressing, but it also makes space for humour in the way Randy sees the world and how we observe him in it. Rourke and Tomei are fantastic in their roles. And if you’re picking from the holiday movie reels, this one deals with the taboo subject of aging in a much more affecting way than the hugely disappointing The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.

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One of the best things to come out of The Wrestler, among many great things, is Bruce Springsteen’s beautiful song of the same name. It got a lot of playtime in my little office when it first came out, and certainly while I wrote this post.

Milk (USA 2008, Biography/Drama), Writer: Dustin Lance Black; Director: Gus Van Sant

Director Gus Van Sant’s latest film documents the life and death of Harvey Milk (Sean Penn), California’s first openly gay elected official. We meet him as a closeted New York accountant in 1970, and follow him through to his finals days as San Francisco Supervisor—a title that ultimately gets him assassinated in 1978.

Milk offers a fantastic biopic that enlists archival footage to set the scene for the anti-gay sentiments and burgeoning gay pride movement of the seventies. The film also relies on an enthralling performance by Penn to pull you into the story. Critics are hailing this as his best performance to date. I don’t know if I can overlook his outstanding turn as convicted murderer Matthew Poncelet in Dead Man Walking, but he’s at least as good in Milk, a movie that provides him with yet another opportunity to showcase his phenomenal range.

One of the film’s greatest strengths—as a film that should go a long way toward bringing homosexuality to the forefront of mainstream cinema—is how unabashedly the men’s physical intimacy is displayed. You can practically see the force pulling Milk and his lover Scott Smith (James Franco) together when they lean in to kiss. Penn throws himself whole-heartedly into these scenes, bringing such passion to them that you forget how good he was at playing the strongly heterosexual alpha-male in Mystic River. This commitment to showing gays as they really interact puts a movie like Philadelphia—whose gay couple never so much as shares a kiss—to shame for having shied away from really throwing open the door society has shut on homosexuality.

My only criticism of the film is that it fails to pack any real emotional punch. As Penn plays him, Milk seems surprisingly unfazed by some of the darker things he faces in the eight years that play out during the movie. And Van Sant definitely doesn’t linger on these moments. Maybe this was done to underscore what Milk himself repeats throughout the film: It’s not about a man; it’s about a movement. Whatever the reason, it left me feeling a little empty. Milk was always engaging, often funny and exciting, but never heart-wrenching.

Still, that doesn’t cause me to hesitate at all before recommending the film. Make a point of seeing it. The timing is unsettlingly—and wonderfully—apropos given the recent passing of Proposition 8 in California.

Changeling (USA 2008, Biography/Crime/Drama/Mystery), Writer: J. Michael Straczynski; Director: Clint Eastwood

I can’t think of a strong way to start this. Maybe it’s because I just finished working or maybe it’s because Changeling didn’t inspire any strong feelings in me. I’m going to err on the side of ego and blame the movie rather than my writing stamina.

Changeling is based on the true story of Christine Collins (Angelina Jolie), whose son went missing just outside of Los Angeles in 1928. The notoriously corrupt LAPD—who were more intent on saving face and appearing to have resolved the case than on bringing the right child home—deliver the wrong boy to Christine and refuse to acknowledge her claims despite seemingly undeniable physical evidence in her favour. When Christine publicly challenges the police, she is thrown in a mental institute until someone comes forward claiming that a serial killer may have murdered her son. Christine is freed, thanks to help from activist Reverend Briegleb (John Malkovich) and one of the few remaining honest detectives (Michael Kelly), and she makes it her mission not only to discover the truth about her son, but also to seek justice for the other women wrongly sentenced by the LAPD, and to overthrow the police force.

If that sounds like a convoluted plot, it is. The biggest reason Changeling fails is that it tries to fit two, possibly even three, movies into one. Searching for a missing child; exposing corrupt officials; capturing and prosecuting an alleged serial killer… Each of those would stand alone in a movie. To delve into all three takes away from the impact any of them has. Not having read any reviews before seeing the film, I was really surprised when the plot took a twist with the serial killer angle. It made the second half of the movie feel disjointed, as if the two story lines were fighting for room.

The script has other problems beyond its structure and outline. Most of the characters are extremely one-dimensional. As serial killer Gordon Northcott, Jason Butler Harner gives a good performance, but it’s thanks to his and director Clint Eastwood’s talents, not the dialogue.

Overall, I was left with the feeling that I’d seen it all before. Only better. Even scenes involving profoundly disturbing content—like electroshock therapy or a hanging—left me a little cold. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and Lars von Trier’s Dancer in the Dark had much more impact when they tackled such subject matter.

All this isn’t to say that there’s nothing worthwhile about Changeling. The production design and value are outstanding. Changeling is meticulously blocked, lit and shot. The precision with which it was made reminds me of those black and white movies from the forties, where the actors can’t be an inch off their mark or the lighting won’t fall properly across their faces. Jolie works very well within this structure; she can drop a tear on the head of a pin, and is unquestionably good as Christine Collins.

With a few exceptions, Changeling is a well-realized production of a flawed script. But I don’t think the flaws were overcome. Anything dealing with such weighty subject matter shouldn’t leave me feeling so little. I recommend skipping this one. You can enjoy the same exceptional production value by renting classic films, like Casablanca or Mildred Pierce. And if you’re an Eastwood fan, you’re better off renting Million Dollar Baby, or the devastating Mystic River, which features some of Sean Penn and Tim Robbins’ finest work.

Rescue Dawn (USA 2007, Action/Adventure/Drama/War), Writer/Director: Werner Herzog

I’ll be honest—I rented Rescue Dawn because Christian Bale is in it. I thought I’d have to struggle through long action sequences just to take in another of his compelling performances. But it was nothing like what I expected. It’s an extraordinary film unlike any war movie I’ve ever seen.

Rescue Dawn tells the true story of Dieter Dengler (Bale), a German-American pilot who is shot down over Laos in 1965 during his first mission. He is captured and, after refusing to sign a document condemning the United States, tortured and taken to a prison camp. There, he meets other prisoners of war, some who have been held for several years. And Dengler quickly sets about devising a plan to escape.

The film stands out so much because it’s a fresh telling of a man’s experiences in war, uncluttered by political or even structural agenda. Sometimes the film moves slowly. Other times, particularly towards the end, things get more exciting. But it never feels manipulative. Everything serves to show what Dengler really went through. And it’s a lot. Yet despite the horrors he faces, nothing deters Dengler or causes him to lose hope. It isn’t a show of naïve optimism; it’s fierce determination from someone who has lived through the ravages of war and still believes that “the man who will threaten me hasn’t been born yet.”

It would be hard to believe a person could retain their positivity, let alone sense of humour and charisma, in those circumstances. Except that Bale’s portrayal is based on the rigorously researched Dengler depicted in Werner Herzog’s 1997 documentary, Little Dieter Needs to Fly. The writer/director did his homework, and it shows in Rescue Dawn.

Beyond the insights Herzog and Bale give into Dengler’s character, the film is captivating because of the director’s technical and artistic gifts. Herzog is equally adept at following action as he is at capturing still, poetic moments. The film includes many beautiful touches and observations about life, like the scrawny dog who parades in front of the starving prisoners on his hind legs, hoping to be rewarded with a scrap of food. The imagery and rich symbolism in Rescue Dawn are rare in today’s films, particularly North American ones.

I feel like I’ve discovered a new world of filmmaking in Herzog. The only thing I’d heard about him before renting Rescue Dawn was that his 2005 documentary, Grizzly Man, about grizzly bear activist Timothy Treadwell, was outstanding (thanks TS!). It took me a couple years to get to it, but I’m about to watch Grizzly Man tonight, as soon as this post is up. I’m going to take a chance and recommend it now, though. The odds are good.

Blindness (Canada/Brazil/Japan 2008, Drama/Mystery), Writer: Don McKellar; Director: Fernando Meirelles

The Kite Runner (USA 2007, Drama/Romance/War), Writer: David Benioff; Director: Marc Forster

I’ve been waiting eight years to see the film adaptation of José Saramago’s Nobel Prize winning 1995 novel, Blindness. It tells the harrowing story of what happens when a city is struck by an epidemic of white blindness. Only one person is spared – the Doctor’s Wife (Julianne Moore), who feigns blindness so she can care for her husband in quarantine.

The disease is a metaphor for the blindness that has overtaken mankind for the last century (or more). Saramago paints a world in which people are blind to one another’s experiences, viewpoints, desires, and even their basic needs. If people can’t see each other, they can’t see the impact they have on one another, making it easier to do wrong by them. In Saramago’s words, “fighting has always been… a form of blindness.”

As more people lose their vision, the mental hospital in which the blind are quarantined becomes overcrowded, and it isn’t long before the weakly forged order breaks down. One of the blind (Gael García Bernal) declares himself King of Ward Three. After getting their hands on guns, the King and his wingmen hoard the food and force the others to pay for their meals with jewelry, watches and money. When they run out of possessions, the King demands that they send their women in exchange for food. As all hell on earth breaks loose in this microcosmic quarantine, people’s morals, strength and humanity are called into question.

When I first read about the casting of Blindness, I hated the idea of Julianne Moore and Mark Ruffalo as the Doctor and the Doctor’s Wife. They’re great actors, but I thought they were too young and far too trendy for the roles. None of the characters in the novel have proper names. They’re meant to represent different versions of “every man,” so I didn’t think casting big marquee names would serve the story.

Now, having seen the movie, I find that the casting works surprisingly well. The cinematography and lighting completely de-glam the stars, and Blindness is such a strong ensemble piece that even Bernal can disappear into the crowd.

Overall, Blindness is a valiant adaptation. It does a good job of staying true to the novel’s essence, while transforming the story to suit another medium. That said, I wish the filmmakers had taken more artistic risks (and hadn’t felt the need to add a narrator).

Saramago wrote Blindness using very little punctuation. It’s an English teacher’s worst nightmare, all those run-on sentences, but it works beautifully in the novel. That artfulness isn’t captured throughout the entire film, which follows a more standard narrative than the novel. But it is beautifully adapted in the moments when people and objects are blurred to create abstract images, leaving the viewer—like the characters—to rely on sound. This treatment is especially effective during the rape scene. It’s both kind, because it lets the viewer off the hook, sparing us the horrifying imagery; and staggering, because we’re left to imagine the worst.

Something the movie conveyed to me more powerfully than the novel did is how essential woman’s nurturing role is to life. At the beginning of the film, the Doctor’s Wife appears to stay at home, spending her time baking exquisite desserts for her husband and speaking in a high-pitched, sing-song voice. Her life is devoted to caring for her man. Suddenly, in the face of this disease, these same tasks—preparing beds, finding food, literally cleaning people’s shit off the floor—are revealed to be life or death matters. The Doctor’s Wife becomes a hero for performing the same everyday tasks that her husband barely had time to thank her for in their previous existence.

Blindness is definitely worth seeing. Just be warned that it’s heavy and disturbing—as it should be.

A quickie about another adaptation, The Kite Runner. I rented it a few weeks ago, right after finishing Khaled Hosseini’s 2003 debut novel of the same name. This film, to me, achieved the opposite of Blindness. It’s a literal translation (if the screenwriter was referencing Coles Notes), but it fails to capture the novel’s essence.

The Kite Runner follows Amir from his days as a young boy in Kabul who delights in reading to his servant Hassan beneath the pomegranate tree, to a haunted adult who moved to California but can’t escape the memory of his betrayal to Hassan. Eventually, Amir returns to Afghanistan amid the horror of the Taliban to help Hassan’s son, and find “a way to be good again.”

The movie covers the main plot points, but it’s as if they’ve been gleaned from the book with a highlighter. Amir and Hassan’s deep bond isn’t properly captured, leaving the story with very little weight. Removed from the novel’s rich context, the dialogue is trite and without impact.

I don’t recommend the film, but the novel is one of my new favourites. It’s beautiful, poetic, moving, upsetting and uplifting. And I found it enlightening to read a personal take on Afghanistan, outside of what you read in the paper or see on the news.

The Black Stallion (USA 1979, Adventure/Drama), Writer: Melissa Mathison; Director: Carroll Ballard

Vicky Cristina Barcelona (Spain/USA 2008, Comedy/Drama/Romance), Writer/Director: Woody Allen

This joint post has a joint dedication: to MH, my favourite pink shirt-wearing, donut-gobbling cop, who lent me The Black Stallion; and ES, my favourite rum brownie-guzzling racewalker, who specifically requested a review of Vicky Cristina Barcelona.

The Black Stallion is based on Walter Farley’s 1941 novel of the same name. It tells the story of young Alec Ramsey (Kelly Reno) and a majestic Arabian stallion called The Black. The two meet aboard a ship off the African coast that is headed for disaster, and soon find themselves stranded on an island, the only survivors of the shipwreck. In time, they form a bond that helps keep both of them alive. When they’re finally rescued, Alec meets retired racehorse jockey Henry Dailey (Mickey Rooney), and the two decide to fight the odds and try to enter The Black in the most anticipated horse race of the year.

Those over-the-top, schlocky Disney family movies have nothing on The Black Stallion, a movie as powerful and elegant as the animal it’s about. Carroll Ballard made his directorial debut with this film, and his cinematography background has a lot to do with why The Black Stallion is so effective. Ballard tells the story simply, relying on beautiful images and gestures rather than heavy-handed dialogue or a melodramatic score. The scene when the snake comes up on Alec is as gripping (I screamed, I was so nervous) as the scene when Alec finally approaches The Black is touching; the boy and the horse do a sweet little dance as they get to know each other, one pushing while the other pulls, until Alec finally wins his trust and nestles against the animal’s neck. Editor Robert Dalva does a wonderful job as well; he has a keen feel for how long to hold the shots.

Ballard maintains this subtle approach throughout the film. He isn’t afraid to let images speak for themselves, or to let Alec and The Black run off frame when they first ride for the press on that foggy, misty night; he trusts that the audience can imagine what might be happening off-camera. Even the climax at the big race isn’t overwhelmed by the swell of an overbearing score; it’s mostly just the boy and his horse, as it should be.

The trust formed between Alex and The Black is largely what makes The Black Stallion so special for me. Part of what I love most about animals is this: the only condition they put on their love is that you treat them well. You have to earn their trust, but once you have it, they don’t give a damn about your credentials or accomplishments, what you do with your time away from them or what you look like. They are capable of pure, guileless love and fierce loyalty. Once Alec is able to break past The Black’s defences and prove that he’s a worthy friend, there is nothing that can come between the two.

If you haven’t already seen The Black Stallion, I highly recommend that you rent it next time you’re in the video store. This phrase is over-used, but it truly is a wonderful movie for people of all ages. It was so moving and inspiring that it left me in tears. Luckily I had my Tim Hortons napkins to mop them up. Thanks, MH.

Continuing with the food theme, and because ES is such a devoted foodie, I’ll start my thoughts on Vicky Cristina Barcelona by describing it the way I did when someone first asked what I thought of it: “It’s like McCain cake.” There’s little substance to it, and it’s not really good for you, but it kind of tastes yummy if you’re in the mood.

I’m not sure I was. Vicky Cristina Barcelona is about two young Americans spending the summer in Barcelona. Vicky (Rebecca Hall) is conservative and pragmatic, in Spain to work on her Masters thesis while her fiancé waits for her back home. Cristina (Scarlett Johansson) is single and impetuous, tagging along with Vicky so she can get over a disastrous romance. The two are approached one night by painter Juan Antonio (Javier Bardem), who invites them to his home in Oviedo for sight-seeing, wine-drinking and love-making. Things get complicated when both women fall for Juan Antonio, and his ex-wife, Maria Elena (Penelope Cruz) comes back into the picture.

It seems as if writer-director Woody Allen just didn’t want to try very hard with this one, as has often seemed the case with him over the last few years. He relies on inane narration to spell out the simplest facts and character reflections, rather than filming a line, a gesture or a look to convey that background or emotion. Even the title speaks to a lack of effort. Vicky. Cristina. Barcelona. It’s like he left naming the film to the last minute, and then thought, “Ah, screw it, I’ll just use these scribblings in the margin.”

I realize all of this must have been intentional. The narration is just too trite not to be tongue-in-cheek. And it had to be have been in jest that Allen chose “Catalan Identity” as Vicky’s thesis topic. This seeming detachment from, and boredom with, the film could well be making a point about American apathy and superficiality, and the fruitless search for meaning and fulfillment in other cultures when it can’t be found at home. I could delve into all of that. Or maybe I’ll just pick something up at Loblaws.

Vicky Cristina Barcelona is enjoyable if you’re in the mood for a nice, light snack. It’s fun and distracting, and Hall and Cruz are fabulous in their roles. Just don’t go expecting brain food. And be sure to bring something strong to wash it all down with.

The Dark Knight (USA 2008, Action/Crime/Drama/Thriller), Writers: Christopher and Jonathan Nolan; Director: Christopher Nolan

Let me say first that there are flaws in this film. It’s no Memento (Christopher Nolan’s brilliant, highly original directorial claim to fame), and the story is a little lackluster when compared with Batman Begins, given that we already know “the secret” of why Bruce Wayne (Christian Bale) created his alter ego. My good friend TS came down pretty hard on The Dark Knight, saying that it tries to mix “comic book logic” with an otherwise “highbrow” script that takes itself too seriously.

That said, I still loved the film, because of the dark tension that never lets up, because I never tire of watching Bale’s performances even when he doesn’t have much to do, because part of me would love to be a superhero, and, far and away most significantly, because Heath Ledger is absolutely phenomenal as The Joker.

When I saw The Dark Knight, there was a trailer for the latest Bond movie, Quantum of Solace. Here’s another action franchise that has moved towards hyperrealism (as far as action films will allow) and plundering new depths to discover the darkness and turmoil that lies at the heart of its characters.

The trailer made me wonder why there’s been such a strong movement in that direction over the past few years. I’ve always loved that kind of character development, and uncovering why dark, twisted people are the way they are. It’s the reason I focused on abnormal psychology in my undergraduate thesis. But in the past, the movies tended to go more for escapism and fantasy than cold hard “truths.” Is there really an increasing demand for this kind of exploration that is less uplifting than the escapist fun we used to go to action movies in search of, or are the filmmakers dictating what we “want”?

So here we have The Dark Knight, which picks up with Batman’s heart and soul already laid bare for us to dissect. And into the mix is thrown The Joker. We don’t get the same glimpse into his psyche. Nolan and Ledger let us think we do, but before we know it, it’s completely turned on its face and we realize The Joker has been screwing with us. It’s just another practical joke. And isn’t that an interesting twist on the newfangled trend of digging in and really trying to understand why bad—or at least dark—people are the way they are.

The Joker takes that away from us. It’s an interesting choice to make in the sequel to a film whose success came from convincingly revealing the inner workings of a legendary and very complicated mind. The Dark Knight still presents a brutally raw portrayal of The Joker as a disturbed psychopath; it’s a far cry from the cute, cartoon version of the character Jack Nicholson embodied. But with The Joker, Nolan makes it clear that there aren’t always pat answers to why people are the way they are. There doesn’t have to be a rhyme or reason. As Alfred (Michael Caine) says, “Some men just want to watch the world burn.” That was a much more satisfying explanation to me than the implausible transformation Harvey Dent (Aaron Eckhart) supposedly underwent to become Two Face.

I think that’s why The Joker makes this film so wonderful for me: Batman Begins explains how the man (Bruce Wayne) became the myth (Batman); The Dark Knight reveals that there might not always be an explanation.

There are other reasons to see the film. Like its predecessor, The Dark Knight is well directed, features some incredible technology, and has a strong supporting cast (with the fantastic Maggie Gyllenhaal taking over the role of Rachel Dawes in the latest film). And there’s more to say about the plot; I’m selling the movie short by implying that it’s just a one-man show. It brings up some interesting issues, including the role that crime has to play in society (should it be wiped out or simply managed?), and the obvious parallels to violence and terror in today’s world (is Batman’s justified violence the answer to The Joker’s foreign, irrational attacks?). But I’d have to see it again to really speak to that. And truly, The Joker is more than reason enough to see this movie. I spent every scene he wasn’t in eagerly awaiting his return. Even when the great Christian Bale was onscreen.

WALL-E (USA 2008, Animation/Comedy/Romance/Sci-Fi), Writer/Director: Andrew Stanton

This is a special birthday post for GL, who turns 30 today and who also happens to love Pixar. And who says WALL-E in a cute, goofy way. Must be the accent.

WALL-E is the latest computer animation from Disney’s Pixar, and it more than delivers on the outstanding results viewers have come to expect from the studio. I loved it. Its animation is excellent, sometimes even poetic. And the storytelling, especially when it doesn’t involve humans, is wonderful.

The movie opens with a sweeping shot of a vast metropolitan landscape in ruin. Its skyscrapers stand beside neighbouring towers made entirely of waste—the result of WALL-E’s daily grind. WALL-E (or Waste Allocation Load Lifter – Earth-Class) is the last holdout of a model of robots designed to clean up planet Earth. He strips the defunct WALL-E units of their parts to keep himself in working order and spends his days dutifully collecting, compressing and organizing human garbage.

It’s amazing how much is established in the opening shots without any dialogue or narration. As WALL-E goes about his work, he glides past evidence of the catastrophe that left Earth in its current state. Billboards and video advertisements made by monopolizing conglomerate Buy and Large reveal that, after decades of accumulating waste, humans were forced to evacuate the planet, leaving behind WALL-E robots to clean up their mess.

For now, Earth is no man’s land, and the robot is perfectly at home. To WALL-E, this desolation is just the backdrop for his every day life. With only a cockroach to keep him company, WALL-E appears perfectly content to go about his business. While out collecting and compressing trash, he sorts through the rubble to find treasures that he takes home at the end of the day. Like his cherished ring box, which he stores after pitching the diamond ring inside it.

The opening scenes are made all the more spectacular because of their fantastic sound design. From WALL-E’s funny little noises to the wind’s haunting whistle as it blows through the lifeless city, the soundscape helps make the movie’s first half effective and captivating without ever relying on dialogue.

It’s a joy to watch WALL-E putter around, with his quirks and eccentricities, his sweet curiosity and the pleasure he takes in the smallest things. His nightly ritual seems to include re-watching the classic romantic musical Hello, Dolly!, an act that lets us know WALL-E harbors a desire to find someone with whom he can share all of this. At one point, the couple in the movie clasps hands. WALL-E looks down at his own metallic appendages and locks his hands together. The sad part is that I looked down and realized I’d clasped my hands in the same way. Maybe this movie is a little too close to home at the moment. But it just made it all the poignant for me.

One day, WALL-E gets a chance to make his wish come true. He follows a strange moving light that eludes his attempts to capture it for his collection. When the light finally slows down, WALL-E discovers its source: a spaceship that deposits EVE (Extraterrestrial Vegetation Evaluator) on Earth. EVE is a sleek new robot who doesn’t take much initial interest in WALL-E, other than shooting at him whenever he moves. As in many relationships, WALL-E spends the courtship stage just trying not to get obliterated. But before long, the two find their way to each other’s hearts and reach the point where they would risk everything for the other. At last, WALL-E has someone with whom he can share his favourite things, his discoveries, thoughts and dreams. And someone to hold his hand now and then.

Things go well for the robots until WALL-E shows EVE the tiny seedling he found and stowed away in a boot. EVE was sent to Earth in search of signs that the planet is once again habitable for human life. Having located the plant, EVE immediately stores it and deactivates. Despite EVE’s withdrawal, WALL-E remains devoted to his inanimate love, even bringing her on boat rides and other adventures.

When EVE’s spaceship returns to retrieve her, WALL-E jumps on board and follows her back to the space station Axiom. Here, the movie takes a minor nose-dive. Maybe it’s more like a swan dive. Or a dolphin leap. It’s still entertaining, and often clever and funny. It’s just not quite as special for most of the second half.

The Axiom is now home to humankind that has degenerated into obese blobs that do nothing but sit in motorized recliners; they receive meals, conduct work and even get their teeth brushed without ever leaving their chairs. Life seems to be run by robots, some of whom don’t appear to be in favour of humanity returning to Earth. There’s a derivative storyline involving the mainframe robot AUTO, and WALL-E loses just a bit of its magic when the movie focuses too much on that. This isn’t a major criticism; even in its weaker moments it’s still a fabulous film. But the best parts take place when the humans aren’t around.

WALL-E is one of the sweetest love stories I’ve seen in a long time. There are no conflicted emotions, no third parties involved, just mutual affection and selfless devotion that grow naturally from friendship and trust. In time, WALL-E and EVE are able to cast aside their directives—what they’ve always been told they should do—and follow their metallic hearts. It’s in the wonder of the bond they form that the movie finds life. All it needed was some loving care, and a little sunlight for WALL-E’s solar charged battery.

Not only do I recommend seeing this movie in theatres, I want to buy it when it comes out on DVD. Go see WALL-E – that’s a directive.

Bonne fête GL! ☺

Across the Universe (USA 2007, Drama/Musical/Romance), Writers: Dick Clement and Ian La Frenais; Director: Julie Taymor

Unfortunately, this weekend has marked the return of an apparently chronic back injury (insert multiple swear words here). While I was sentenced to the couch, my loyal and devoted sister helped me pass the long hours by staying at my side as I went through ice pack after movie after ice pack.

I refuse to divulge all of the movies we rented, but we watched several of the stunning Planet Earth documentaries, and the Dane Cook/Jessica Alba comedy Good Luck Chuck that, surprisingly, wasn’t half bad. (The fact that Good Luck Chuck is one of the movies I’ll confess to having seen this weekend should give you an idea of just how god-awful some of the others were…)

Anyway, the one I’m writing about here is Across the Universe. I’ve been meaning to see this film for a long time. It’s one those movies you keep eyeing in the video store and almost pick up each time you go. Initially, I was excited about the movie because I’m a fan of director Julie Taymor and lead actress Evan Rachel Wood, and the idea of a Beatles tribute movie is appealing to someone who listened to their music endlessly in junior high school. But the lukewarm reviews it got last year kept me walking down the aisle.

Finally, though, faced with the prospect of several days’ couch rest, I added Across the Universe to the pile and checked it out.

There isn’t much to the plot. Set against the backdrop of the Vietnam War, the film follows upper-class American Lucy (Wood) and working-class Liverpudlian Jude (Jim Sturgess) as they move to New York City and face the pitfalls of love and war. They live with an assortment of Beatles-inspired characters, including Lucy’s brother Max (Joe Anderson), sexy singer Sadie (Dana Fuchs) and lovelorn lesbian Prudence (T.V. Carpio).

What makes Across the Universe fun to watch are its strong performances and Taymor’s innovative, insightful take on the familiar tunes. Strawberry Fields becomes a war montage with strawberries dropping from the sky like bombs, spilling their juice as blood and paint from raging soldiers and artists; Prudence delivers a beautiful, bittersweet interpretation of I Want To Hold Your Hand as she watches her crush flirt with the high school quarterback; Jude’s and Lucy’s contrasting spins on Revolution take us from exciting and inciting, to pleading and desperate; the haunting opening version of Girl sets the stage wonderfully.

There are points in the film where some of the dance numbers get to be a bit much; Taymor can be a little too abstract, and I found myself glancing at the clock a couple times. But there aren’t many of those moments. Watching Across the Universe is sort of like watching a more sedate Moulin Rouge; some of it is grating, but the parts that work make it worthwhile. I’m thinking of the Elephant Love Medley, Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman’s fabulous rooftop duet. There’s nothing in Across the Universe that’s quite on par with that, but it certainly features many songs and moments that make you feel.

When I asked my sister what she thought of Across the Universe, she concurred: “Overall I liked it, but sometimes I thought it was a little too much about the crazy visual effects and it got a little boring.”

So there you have it. I recommend the movie if you love Beatles music or are a romantic at heart. And for everything else, Ibuprofen.

My Blueberry Nights (Hong Kong/France 2007, Drama/Romance), Writers: Wong Kar-Wai and Lawrence Block; Director: Wong Kar-Wai

I’m writing this post while gobbling blueberries, and am a little baked after having spent the day in the sun. Maybe that’ll excuse me from any typos or inane tangents.

Also the sun is spilling dappled light over my computer screen. It’s really quite beautiful.

My Blueberry Nights has all the right ingredients to pull me in to the theatre. A dream cast (Jude Law, David Strathairn, Rachel Weisz, Natalie Portman, and soulful, entrancing singer Norah Jones in her acting debut). It’s directed by Wong Kar-Wai, the visionary behind In the Mood for Love. And it features Jones’ dreamy, melodic music.

In the end, though, the film fails to deliver on its promise. For one thing, the plot is much more superficial than that of In the Mood for Love. My Blueberry Nights begins when Elizabeth (Jones) meets Jeremy (Law) at his diner. She is heartbroken after having caught her boyfriend cheating and, desperate for someone to talk to, turns to Jeremy. The two bond after-hours in the empty diner, talking into the night and eating the day’s leftover pies—her choice is blueberry, which remains untouched by the other diner patrons, day after day. What a wonderful way to fall in love with someone. There’s something special about being alone in a place that’s usually full of people. To share that place with someone else feels like a moment stolen from time, forged outside of the regular day-to-day rules that everyone else follows.

But although Jeremy falls right away for Elizabeth, she is buried too far beneath her sadness to recognize what they share. One night, she leaves the diner behind and embarks on a journey of self-discovery. She spends time in Memphis and Nevada, where she befriends a delusional alcoholic (Strathairn), his estranged wife (Wiesz), and a pathological liar and gambler (Portman), all the while writing down her inner dialogue in postcards to Jeremy.

And here is where the film begins to unravel. As we dabble into the other characters’ lives, we lose sight of Elizabeth and her potential future with Jeremy. That’s a mistake, because Kar-Wai never creates the same sympathy and interest for his supporting characters as he does for Elizabeth. My Blueberry Nights loses steam as Elizabeth sits silent in the background for too long.

The film is full of Kar-Wai’s trademark whimsy: Jeremy knows his customers not by their names, but by their orders; he keeps a jar of keys that represent different people’s stories and heartbreaks, and can recount every one of them in detail. And of course, there are many long shots and close-ups, of ice cream dribbling down slices of pie and of Jones’ lovely face. Kar-Wai’s camera lingers on Elizabeth as she sleeps on the counter until Jeremy finally leans in to kiss the ice cream off her lips.

But even the artistic imagery can’t help the film rise to the ranks of In the Mood for Love. The cutaways aren’t as fluid in My Blueberry Nights. They aren’t mixed in properly, and it makes the film feel scattered, lacking in cohesion. It would be pretentious except that Kar-Wai has too light a touch for that. Still, his stylistic choices seem haphazard and occasionally confusing.

The film has some successes. Although Kar-Wai lost me during Elizabeth’s travels, the premise of her relationship with Jeremy is sweet. The score is melodic and suits the mood well. And the performances are good, with an above par showing from Portman (who often sells herself short) and a solid delivery by Jones.

My Blueberry Nights may not be Kar-Wai’s best work; it’s thin on filling and has a flaky crust. But it sure looks tempting through the bakery window.