A lot of times I write and I "make do." It's alright. I think I got the point across.
And sometimes, I nail it. It's rare, but I'm capable of it. Even if the movie is just about toys. I remember a comment for this post (on that "other" site) was simply "Dude. It's Toy Story 3." (Where are you, Simon?) Yes. And good movies about love can come from anywhere.
Written at the time of the film's release...
"And if You Can't Be with the One You Love, Honey..."
One has suspected a subtle sub-text in the "Toy Story" series—every Pixar film has evoked that feeling (which is why they tower over Dreamworks and every other animation supplier and make even their rivals' three-dimensional films seem more two-dimensional) since the first film premiered (what was it?) fifteen years ago.
Toy Story 3is no less rich in sub-text. Sub-texts like the given that the toys have stayed the same, but their little owner Andy has grown up and is on his way to college by the time we hit 3; First sub-text: Change or be passed over. Any one looking for a job in these troubled times has had to be confronted with their inadequacy in some department while they're winning the daily bread. And like the toys of "Toy Story," time may be their enemy, staying consistent while the world evolves too quickly.
But, at the pace-making heart of the "Toy Story" movies has been one constant, and that is its contemplation of the nature of Love, which puts it in the same movie-case with such seminal works as Vertigo and A.I. In the first Toy Story, cowboy-doll Woody (voiced by Tom Hanks) watched in horror as the affection of his beloved Andy was supplanted by the new space-age toy Buzz Lightyear (voiced by Tim Allen). The stakes doubled in Toy Story 2 when we witnessed the discarding of cow-girl Jessie (voiced by Joan Cusack) as her owner grew up and put away childish things (see the video below). And we witnessed Woody turned from an object of play to a rarified objet collectionner, the very definition of a "trophy love." Toy Story 3 takes Jesse's plight and applies it to the entire toy corps, facing abandonment (the attic) and, worse, discarding (at the sidewalk on garbage day). The toy soldiers take action and evacuate the premises first: "Once the garbage bags come out, the army men are the first to go" barks the commander (R. Lee Ermey) before para-sailing out of Andy's bedroom window.
The others are left to contemplate their fate.
Play-time's over.*
There is one axiom I've held to my heart from the moment I first recognized its truth—I'm sure it originates elsewhere, but I first read it from thriller writer John D. MacDonald: "Love is not the opposite of Hate; love and hate are merely two sides of the same coin. The opposite of love is indifference."
The forging of the community has been a theme running throughout the history of film (especially Westerns) since Edison, certainly John Ford, and we've all seen those films where the protagonist loses a family in order to gain another, sometimes not by choice. Those bonds are infused with strength to take on all comers and all challenges, but the heart of that coming-together has always been the one unofficial but over-arching Commandment: Love thy Neighbor.
I mentioned putting away childish things earlier. That's from The Bible (1 Corinthians 13), and looking over that verse again, I saw images spring up from Toy Story 3—"And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not love, it profiteth me nothing," particularly. But especially its last devastating quality in its check-list of Love's qualities, which always makes me tear up a little when I contemplate it, and I contemplate love and loss. For toys break, batteries corrode, fabric burns and plastic will melt. But Love "never faileth."
Love never dies.
To Infinity.
And Beyond.
* How many times have we said that, as adults, mourning the loss of childhood from adult responsibilities?
** But, man, you want to see Pixar push the envelope? Check out the sophisticated opening short Day & Night, a wordless combination of 2-D and 3-D, line animation and computer graphics, filled with rich imaginative ideas and a brilliant sound design. The work of animator Teddy Newton, this little gem, puts him at the top of exciting animators to watch.
Something from Nothing or No Man is an Island of Misfit Toys
Charlie (Logan Lerman) is starting his first year in High School as a freshman and he has a lot to learn. He's shy, introverted, and fragile the result of some trauma we know not what going in. He walks the corridors friendless, a punching bag for the cool kids and their posses. His parents (Dylan McDermott and Kate Walsh) are lightly caring, and his English teacher (Paul Rudd) reassures—"If you make one friend on your first day, you'll do good." "If my English professor is the only friend I make today, that'll be sorta depressing." But Charlie does have one friend, writing to him about his experiences, pouring out his frustrations and observations in letter after letter about his "trying not to be a loser." The friend is anonymous, may not even exist, or once existed, but those letters keep Charlie going and serve as his avenue of expression, rather than having his day pulled out of him at the family dinner table. It's an uphill battle from some valley that isn't discussed, but Charlie is self-aware enough to know some perspective. "My life is officially an after-school special," he grouses.
At a football game, he meets Patrick (Ezra Miller), a senior and the subject of some casual bullying, but Patrick has a wicked sense of humor that he throws out with no hesitancy as a shield. Charlie gravitates to him, and meets Patrick's step-sister Sam (Emma Watson), also a Senior, but who is coming back from "having a reputation." After the football game, the three hang out at a diner and compare notes of commonality, which involve a distinct lack of fitting in with the high school social structure, and Charlie is introduced to more of the group, who hold fast, hang out, and provide safety in numbers and a fresh perspective on the puerile benefits of normalcy.
The Perks of Being a Wallflower(written and directed by Steven Chbosky from his own novel) is a fine quirky example of a "Coming of Age" movie, that sub-set of the teen flick where lessons are learned (his life really is an after-school special) and is not so much a film about growing up, as growing out. Growing out of the insular self-inspection, narcissism and selfishness that is comfortable and has no risk, it's dark and warm and safe in that little "black cave of the psyche." But is it? That cave only echoes one's own thoughts back to us, providing no perspective and no horizon to reach to or for.
Yeah, it's pretty safe in there...if there aren't any demons or other creatures of the nightmare lying in wait to strike when you're most vulnerable. And we all have those. And even if we don't, the echoes of our own thoughts are only phantoms and zephyrs, not sustaining, and if that's all we cling to, they become echoes of echoes, distorting, becoming less clear, and often impenetrably undecipherable—a feedback loop. And feedback loops, uninterrupted, can become weapons.
Charlie is scared. And ashamed. And that limits his choices, when he does make a choice. Most of the time, things are just foisted on him and he has to make a decision: like this, or don't? Comfortable or not? Aware, or comatose? And by the time, he makes a decision, it's usually too late, putting him a tail-spin, and another trap. His fellow wallflowers are in traps, too (isn't that what High School is all about?), but one thing he learns is that they're not the only ones and the traps, self-made or imposed are universal.
It's a good film, with good imagery, but a neophyte director's tendency to hit things a little too square—the shot from the communion wafer to the LSD tab, please—but the performances feel real, Emma Watson is a helluva dancer, and it's a good trip down memory lane, now that it's gone and out of our lives. "See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya" For the truth of the matter is, we all grow out. We couldn't survive if we didn't. Yes, "we are infinite" as the movie's tag line wants to be sure we know. But not individually. And not by ourselves.
The Existential Angst of Contemplating One's Own Shelf Life or "Thanks a Lot, Inner-Voice!"
“When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.”
1 Corinthians 13:11
I have a nasty habit of burying my lede. I start a post with what should be the last line of the thing, the zinger. But, I start writing with what I feel is the most important thought and find that when I finish up, the last line falls a bit flat. I'm not happy with it, at least. Should have ended the entry with the first line of it. It disappoints me. But, I'm gonna do it again, because it's the most important thing to say: Pixar is the most amazing producers of the finest films extant. You fan-boys can have Marvel—their percentage is nowhere near what Pixar manages to do. Marvel's film series usually peter out with the second one. The Harry Potter films were a mixed bag. And nobody's done what Pixar has done with their Toy Story series—each new chapter of the story is better than the last one, the most recent (that being Toy Story 3) was an emotional wringer and the best of the films.
Best one, that is, up to that time. Because Toy Story 4 is an improvement over it on all fronts: animation, story, presentation, screenplay, and direction. And it's deeper and more profound than anything we've seen yet, sophisticated in its themes, and makes changes to the characters and the dynamics of established tropes and story assumptions to challenge the audience and bring them along for the ride of growing up.
And it's about toys. Toys, for pity's sake. And it does all that while still being funny and extraordinarily entertaining to boot (with a snake in it).
When last we left Andy's collection of toys, they had been saved from incineration, and transported by Andy to little Bonnie, a shy 4 year old toddler with a rich inner life. The movie begins in flashback with a crisis: it's raining and Andy has brought in his toys from playing outside. All except one. The mechanical race-car, RC, has been left outside and is struggling to keep from being swept away in a gully-washer. Woody (voiced again by Tom Hanks) organizes a rescue party and with the help of Slinky-dog (voiced by Blake Clark) rescues RC. But, another toy is about to be lost—Bo Peep (voiced by Annie Potts) and her three-headed sheep is being given away as her lamp is no longer needed in Andy's sister's room. Woody tries to rescue her—it's what he does—from being exiled to another home, but Bo Peep will have none of it. She accepts her fate. "Sometimes, toys get lost in the yard or put in the wrong box. It's okay. I'm not Andy's toy. It's time for the next kid." And she gets carted away, while Andy can only watch hopelessly, lying lumped in the car-port in the rain.
Cut to now—and Bonnie's world. Woody organizes the toys—it's what he does—calming their fears as they're consigned to the closet on cleaning day. Bonnie comes back from the dust-up and pulls the toys from their temporary confinement, all except Woody, who can only watch and wonder what's changed.*A lot, it turns out. It's the end of summer, and Bonnie is now five—time for a big transition (there a lot of them in Toy Story 4), as the shy little girl is about to be thrust into the world of an unprotective collective—kindergarten, and she is required to go to "orientation." Bonnie has always been a shy child, tremulously so. And the prospect of going to kindergarten without a parental leg to hide behind is devastating to her, causing a melt-down. What she needs is a sheriff to come to the rescue—or, at least, that's what Woody thinks—so he stashes himself in her back-pack, a stowaway to school.
It's a scary place with other kids, kids without borders or boundaries and unchecked id's. When she sits down for activities, another child swipes all her arts supplies. Woody observes all this and manages to find a way to sneak out of his hiding place and toss Bonnie with supplies in the trash. She's inspired to take a stick, a spork, pipe-cleaners, and some play-doh and makes her own toy and companion—"Forky" (voiced by a wonderful Tony Hale)—who manages to sustain Bonnie through the day and give her a sense of accomplish. Good enough. But, when Bonnie gets home ("I finished kindergarten!!" "Uh...honey?"), Woody introduces Forky to the other toys.
But, Forky has issues. He's a bit pre-verbal and can't quite see himself as a toy, but, rather as trash. It's an instinctual fixation and he must be restrained from constantly throwing himself in the nearest dumpster. Leave that to Woody, who has his own instinctual fixation—it inspires composer Randy Newman (Yay!) to write a lovely gospel song entitled "I Can't Let You Throw Yourself Away" exposing Woody as a plasticene guardian angel, a caretaker—and he wails to Buzz Lightyear (voiced by Tim Allen) "I don't know if you remember what it was like when Andy was a kid, but, I don't remember it being this hard!"
A road trip with Bonnie and her parents as a final Summer fling before school provides ample opportunity for Forky to trash himself and for Woody to come to the rescue, whether the little spork wants him to or not. It also provides him the opportunity to re-unite with Bo Peep, who has changed considerably after leaving Andy's house and, ultimately, escaping from an antiques shop called "Second Chances" (heh).
As Bo tells Woody, "I don't want to sit on a shelf waiting for my life to happen." But, Woody is in a different place. For Woody, it's all about The Child, or any toy in crisis that might adversely effect said child. It always has been. And so much of his time has been about taking care of other's needs—he's taken his fake sheriff's badge too literally—and the movie spends much of its time with Woody coming to the rescue and realizing that seems to be his sole reason for existence, because he knows no other pattern of behavior.
Bo provides another perspective; she has a good life on her own without the need for a child in her life. But, Woody is stuck in his ways—there are only so many phrases in his talk-box if you want a literalness to the concept. It's all in service to the child. It always has been and always will be.
That's the crux of the movie: a toy's need to be needed, and the damage that such activity can cause to one's own shelf-life. Along the way, Toy Story 4 delves into parallel stories of toys' needs to be given purpose—of the toys at the antiques shop waiting to be given a chance at being taken home, and a pair of prizes that never seem to be claimed at a shooting arcade at a nearby carnival—all the while the toys are working overtime trying to get Forky back to Bonnie.
The major story is at the antiques store, which is given a creepy atmosphere recalling Kubrick's The Shining—at one point, an old 78 plays "Midnight, the Stars, and You"—with the long-abandoned Gabby Gabby (Christina Hendricks), a talking doll with a damaged voice-box that she believes is keeping her from being taken home to some needy child. She keeps Forky hostage in the hopes of taking Woody's so she can have her chance, and she runs the antiques store like her own personal führerbunker with demented ventriloquist's dummies as her shock-troops. Creepy.
Then, there are the plush arcade animals, Ducky and Bunny (voiced hilariously by Keegan Michael-Key and Jordan Peele), who've been hanging around as shooting gallery prizes for so long they've developed something of an attitude waiting for kids to just hit the damn targets. They get roped into the whole "Second Chances" plot and they have a rather aggressive way of handling problems. Probably been at the range too long. Also aiding is a Canadian stunt-toy called Duke Kaboom, whose stunt skills are used for an elaborate rescue, and who is voiced by Keanu Reeves, still nailing the mock-heroic voice.
Pixar ups the artistic quality a notch—the world is a bit more complicated and messier with dust-bunnies, cob-webs and dust-motes that dance in sun-beams, little details that one didn't realize were missing until the animators made it essential (Andy, too, in the flashback sequences looks far more real than the crude animator grids in the first movie allowed). But, it's also more sophisticated in the way the film questions the series trope—that a toy is useful only if it's needed by its possessor. This one dispels that idea as a given and makes it relevant, not only to the film's characters, but to the larger issues of the audience's as well...as we all (as Bob Dylan observed) gotta serve somebody. And that's if we're a caretaker, or just a work-a-day 9 to 5'er, a Mom or a sheriff. Yeah, we gotta serve. But we also gotta know that we're not just what we work at. We gotta know when the job is done. We've got to know ourselves.
Remember Toy Story 3? Remember how it had the perfect ending, even though it was kind of sad and changed things? How it worked outside your comfort zone, but you also knew it was the perfect ending for the story? Turns out that it was for its time. But, another story needed to be told. We just didn't know it yet. And Toy Story 4 tells it with such care and such skill...and wisdom—without taking its eyes off the entertainment value—that you might think it's a perfect ending.
You might even think—like me—that it was even better than Toy Story 3, which, as I said at the beginning, was the best of the series so far. And I wept like a baby at it. I'm at the point, now, where I wouldn't mind another Toy Story movie, so good are these creators at telling a story and making it essential. Making movies that matter and increasingly raising the bar...for themselves and for us.
So exceptionally well done.
* He is consoled by some other toys, which Pixar casts with some essential voices—Alan Oppenheimer, Carol Burnett, Carl Reiner, Mel Brooks, and Betty White. That seems so right. Maybe not essential, but a lovely gesture.
** Newman does another brilliant score with two new amazing songs, and I always imagine Seth McFarland gritting his teeth and thinking "I write better stuff than THAT." No. No, he doesn't. But he tries so hard to do something better than what Newman seems to do so effortlessly. That's because Newman is a genius who makes it look easy. McFarland just studies and copies...and comes up short. Professional jealousy is a terrible thing...and not very professional
They pull up stakes and move from their idyllic (though incomplete) home in the woods to urban Baltimore, where the three must cope as best they can with their grief and their circumstances, grief not only for the father, around whom the family seemed to revolve, but also for the life that his death, scatters to the four (or, I should say the three) winds.
The family fractures in their three different attempts to create a new life that resembles the old. Beth (Lange) takes on the father's all-controlling mode and goes to work at a bakery with a monster-boss (Kathy Bates, right on the cusp of stardom in a tough, unsentimental role), son Chris (O'Donnell) tries to be the man of the house but is pulled away, beginning a relationship with an older nurse, Jody (Joan Cusack), and young Matt (Korsmo, showing what a natural, affecting actor he could be in the first role of his short career) takes to stealing VCR's to buy lottery tickets in an scheme to win enough money to try and buy the family's house back.
As a film, it is a complete turn-around from Risky Business, which was cold, cynical, and shot with a clinical eye for composition. Men Don't Leave, is warmer, more desperate, and feels more real despite some contrivances in plot—I'm not sure a hot air balloon ride could snap one out of a "stuck-in-bed" depression, but having taken one, I know that it couldn't hurt, putting into reality a perspective change that's cathartic. Brickman still manages to produce arresting images that grab your attention and produce an odd counter-point to the comedy. The film also benefits from a quirky, texturedThomas Newman score. I suppose what I like most about it is the view that catastrophes come and catastrophes go, but life—not the same life, but a life—does goes on and, however you approach it, standing still or expecting the world to change your circumstances for you is futile.
And the performances are spot on—sometimes frustrating, sometimes inexplicable—make the characters human beings and not a collection of personality ticks. My memories of the one time I saw it are vivid (it didn't last long in theaters and only was released to DVD in late 2009 through Warner Brothers Archives site), so it's on a short list of films I want to re-view to see if my first impressions have held up over time, or if the film merely touched my individual buttons. Jessica Lange says that more people talk to her about Men Don't Leave than any of her other films, so I suspect it's the former.
First, came the macabre series of Charles Addams\one-panel cartoons in The New Yorker (where the ghoulish family were only periodic characters).
Then came the TV series—the characters' names provided by Addams himself.
A quarter century later, given the trend to recycle old television into new movies, The Addams Family came to the big screen.
The Addams Family(Barry Sonnenfeld, 1991) The first directing job by cinematographer Barry Sonnenfeld, who came out of a short, boisterous career that started in the Coen Brothers/Sam Raimi early years of hyper-activity, something that he has maintained throughout his own films.
Sonnenfeld's movies careen between dead-pan humor and break-neck agitation—you could see it in some of his camera moves for the Coen's and you can certainly see it in the pell-mell caroming of the first big-screen version of The Addams Family. The casting is truly inspired and may, in fact, be perfect, with Anjelica Huston as Morticia, Raul Julia as Gomez, Chris Lloyd as Fester, and Carel Struyken as Lurch.* But the breakout performance is by 11 year old Christina Ricci as daughter Wednesday, who manages to make her lines all laughers with a bland expression and a direct unironic reading of her lines. She found the secret to making the script work, because it isn't very good, (a collaboration between Beetlejuice author Larry Wilson and Edward Scissorhands scripter Caroline Thompson) not doing anything really unique with the characters, basically amping up the character traits of the TV versions while creating a plot in which Uncle Fester has been missing for 25 years (presumably lost in the Bermuda Triangle). Gomez's crooked accountant (played by Dan Hedaya) attempts to bring an impostor in to take over the Addams fortune. For awhile, it looks like the plan succeeds, but it doesn't, and it's soon revealed that the impostor really IS Fester, and blah, blah, blah.
One of the jokes that works—Pugsley's collection of "Stop" signs
One of the Addams cartoons used in the film—this one before the credits! \Frankly the film could have used more of this and less of what they did use, which was watered down sit-com material.
Addams Family Values (Barry Sonnenfeld, 1993) As much of a fan as I was of the "Addams" television show—I liked them, far more than the bland television families usually presented—I didn't even go see Addams Family Values in the theater (I was working—a lot). Big mistake. Sonnenfeld was back, having completed a slightly tamer Michael J. Foxcomedy in the interim. Dede Allen was gone. Owen Roizman was replaced by Don Peterman (who'd DP'd Star Trek IV, Splash, and Flashdance) and Ken Adam, legendary Art Director, came on-board. But the most important element was the script...written by Paul Rudnick***with what must have been a poison pen from an inkwell filled with snark and maliciousness. It is an extraordinarily funny movie, despite an unpromising premise: the Addams welcome a new child to the family, a boy, Pubert (the original name Charles Addams gave to Pugsley, which was rejected by the network censors).
Now, that is truly creepy. And funny. The "Camp Chippewa" segments are the best of the film's sub-plots, indicating that if someone wants to do another film with the Addamses they need to 1) get them out of the house and 2) hire Rudnick (This iteration's Gomez, Raul Julia, sadly, passed away a year after Addams Family Values was released). But, the entire film has more zest, more life (or what passes for it, given the subjects) and genuinely twisted humor than the original exhumation.****
It's always a pleasure to run into on the tube, no matter at which point one comes in.
* I love doing this if only to share finds: like Carel Struyken's 360 photography site, which you can find here.
** Roizman left the production after a month. Sonnenfeld, who started as a cinematographer with the Coen Brothers, ended up finishing the film himself. *** Rudnick did some dialogue touch-up on the first film. **** I've spared a lot of the quotable lines (they're peppered all over the Inter-spider-web anyway), but one little joke I love is the lighting of Morticia in Values-taking the "Kirk-lighting effect" used a little in the first film, and in the second, bending lightwaves backwards in order to achieve the same effect in every. single. shot.
Finally, this is my favorite Charles Addams cartoon....
But, at the pace-making heart of the "Toy Story" movies has been one constant, and that is its contemplation of the nature of Love, which puts it in the same movie-case with such seminal works as Vertigo and A.I. In the first Toy Story, cowboy-doll Woody (voiced by Tom Hanks) watched in horror as the affection of his beloved Andy was supplanted by the new space-age toy Buzz Lightyear (voiced by Tim Allen). The stakes doubled in Toy Story 2 when we witnessed the discarding of cow-girl Jessie (voiced by Joan Cusack) as her owner grew up and put away childish things (see the video below). And we witnessed Woody turned from an object of play to a rarified objet collectionner, the very definition of a "trophy love." Toy Story 3 takes Jesse's plight and applies it to the entire toy corps, facing abandonment (the attic) and, worse, discarding (at the sidewalk on garbage day). The toy soldiers take action and evacuate the premises first: "Once the garbage bags come out, the army men are the first to go" barks the commander (R. Lee Ermey) before para-sailing out of Andy's bedroom window. 
