Toy Story 3

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 3 is 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."

 
There are a lot of instances of indifference on display in Toy Story 3 (though certainly not at the hands of the creative team behind it, who have filled it with pithy circumstance and finely-wrought detail in a cartoonish 3-D photo-realism**). But, so is love, in the through-line from the first movie, first warbled in Randy Newman's opening song "You've Got a Friend in Me." It is the banding together of the community, standing stuffed shirt to plasticene shell through adversity, the toys' answer to "Can't We All Just Get Along?" All the movies have centered around the toys—diverse as they are—keeping the group together, and welcoming the new. That reaches its dramatic climax here as the team locks hands as they face absolute destruction in a truly frightening version of Hell.

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.

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice

Revisiting Old Haunts

or

"I Dont Think That I Can Take It/

'Cause It Took SO LONG to Bake It/

And I'll Never Have That Recipe Agaaaaain"
 

Beetlejuice was an unlikely hit when it debuted away back in 1988. Director Tim Burton was virtually unknown. He'd made two shorts, one called Vincent and the other, his live-action version of Frankenweenie, the second of which convinced Paul Reubens to give him the directing job on Pee-wee's Big Adventure. That one had made money and when Burton became friends with writers Michael McDowell and Larry Wilson after directing their modern re-telling of "The Jar" for the television anthology re-boot "Alfred Hitchcock Presents", they began collaborating on McDowell and Wilson's original screenplay "Beetlejuice". As closely identified as he is with the film, it did not start as an original idea—Burton had already been working on his next film, Batman with writer Sam Hamm, but the project hadn't gotten out of the Warner Brothers' development Hell, when the McDowell-Wilson script found its way to him.

 

Beetlejuice changed everything. Burton's bizarre approach to the material garnered a large audience, and seeing the success that the young director had made of such a strange concept, Warner was more than happy to finance Batman. And Tim Burton became, if not a household name, a guarantor of original concepts and oddly-tilted projects that audiences fancied.

A sequel to Beetlejuice has always been talked about...but Burton has always been busy. For the longest time, it had been going through a series of concepts from many Burton collaborators under such titles as "Beetlejuice Goes to Hell," "Beetlejuice in Love" and..."Beetlejuice Goes Hawaiian" (I think that might have been a joke-title for the press) but Burton always seemed to find something that attracted him more. Now, a whopping 36 years—and several Batmen—later, it's finally manifested itself in theaters.

A bit of personal back-story here: I must confess that the first Beetlejuice movie...at first viewing...I wasn't that crazy about. Brilliantly designed, yes. Ingenious and funny, sure. Keaton, terrific...if used a bit sparingly. All the elements were there, but it just seemed a bit wanting. Some of it might be attributed to Alec Baldwin's performance—this was before he became "Alec Baldwin"—which was a little bland, almost protective of himself as an actor. But, the big thing is I got the impression that the movie wasn't exactly true to its own rules...like if something needed to be resolved, Burton would just come up with something and excuse it as "it'll work" rather than making sense. This was before I started to appreciate Burton as Burton.* With a couple more films, I learned to let Burton be Burton and my reservations blew away like dust that obscures a snow-globe. Oh, he could still do a less than satisfying film, but a fully-engaged Burton film is a joy to behold...and experience.

Which is why I found Beetlejuice Beetlejuice such a breath of fresh air, albeit with a creepily crypt-like funk. One recalls that when Burton does a sequel—he's only done one, Batman Returns, far different in tone than the first one—he approaches it the same way he does one of his re-makes...as a "re-imagining." Yes, there will be call-backs (and there are plenty in Beetlejuice Beetlejuice), but, for the most part, Burton is vampire-staking new ground, and here he's doing it with such wild abandon that one turns giddy with each new development...however grisly or grotesque.

 
The story has three arcs that will progress and come together at the end.

1) It's 36 years later than the events of the first film and Lydia Deetz (Winona Ryder), the girl who could "see dead people," is the host of a cable-TV show called "Ghost House" where she visits haunted places. She has the experience. She is currently having the experience of seeing flashing visions of Betelgeuse (Michael Keaton)—well, he isn't "flashing" per se, but one wouldn't put it past him—which is making her more neurotic than normal and has her reaching for her anti-anxiety pills, much against the wishes of her producer/boyfriend Rory (Justin Theroux). Lydia is a mess, anyway. Her surrogate ghost-family, the Maitlands have "found a loophole" and moved on. Her husband, Richard (Santiago Cabrera) has disappeared exploring the Amazon, and her daughter, Astrid (Jenna Ortega), in boarding school, hates her, blaming her for driving her father away and because she considers her mother's work with the supernatural "a sham." Lydia's mother Delia (Catherine O'Hara) is now a popular artist with a gallery opening pending, when she learns that husband Charles () has died and she insists that the three generations of women return to their old home in Winter River for a proper memorial.

2) Betelgeuse is now a functionary in Afterlife Management, running a boiler-room of shrunken-head employees and still holding a torch for Lydia, when he is called off the job by "ghost detective" Wolf Jackson (Willem Dafoe), B-movie action star in his past life, who warns him that his past wife Delores (Monica Bellucci), a soul-sucking witch who murdered him during the Black Plague has somehow managed to reassemble herself—Betelgeuse hacked her into parts after discovering she'd poisoned him (it was the Plague Years, after all)—and is now seeking him out for revenge. Betelgeuse knows he won't out-run her for long and knows his only real salvation is to try to get back into the mortal world.

3) Astrid, on break from her boarding school (which she hates) and with her Mother (whom she hates) and step-grandmother (whom she tolerates) and her Mother's boyfriend (whom she despises), does just enough family-duty to go through with Charles' service, but then lights out on her bicycle where, by accident, she meets Jeremy (Arthur Conti), who feels like as much of an outcast as she does. They plan to meet up for Hallowe'en. Jeremy is the first decent boy she's met...but then, she hasn't had much experience with boys. If she wasn't keeping it a secret her mother or grandmother might tell her that boys are only after one thing...

That's a lot of story, and there are a lot of characters, and a lot of detail and the movie sails by with hardly a bump. In the meantime, Burton is having fun mixing things up with stop-motion animation (the sequence is ingenious on so many levels), or by telling the story of Betelgeuse and Delores' relationship in the style of a Mario Bava giallo film, in black and white and with Italian narration, and his parade of recently deceaseds all visually communicate how they died, usually in ways that would make them win Darwin Awards.

One of those awards would surely be deserving of someone who kept rambling on and on talking about how they loved everything about the movie and proceeded to tell you everything they loved about the movie and spoiling it. Those were just a couple of things that made me grin and grimace throughout the movie and there's so much more that should be left unsaid for full appreciation. But, leave it to say that Burton is working on all cylinders and with at least the same amount of joy he did with the first film...nearly four decades ago.

This time, I had no quibbles, from the first sequence to the last, each with their in-jokes and sense of the macabre to their giddy reveling in kitsch—a key component to understanding most of Tim Burton's work—all topped off with another happily galumphing Danny Elfman score. If I could grin any more, the top of my head would have rolled back like a PEZ dispenser. 

 

And laugh?  I thought I'd die.

* I had a REAL problem with Edward Scissorhands when the titular character stabbed his arch-nemesis to death, destroying the innocence of the character. The thing is...that was kind of the point. The "real world" of suburbia finally broke him, and it's why he HAS to go back to The Inventor's castle in self-exile. In practical terms, the death is unresolved—the police should be showing up at the castle-door (maybe with torches and pitch-forks), but—in story-terms, Edward's already punishing himself...in his own prison.

 

Burton tells stories with dream-logic. Real-world issues do not apply.

Knox Goes Away

Schrödinger's Murderer

or

"Did You Bury This Guy?" "No. Why?" "'Cause If You Had, I'd've Dug Him Up and Killed Him Again."

Knox Goes Away is a lot better than people say it is.

Michael Keaton's second directed film—his first was the little seen The Merry Gentleman—is another pulpy film noir about a hit-man. The first (which Keaton basically took over when the original director was incapacitated) was more of a character study, contrasting its hired killer becoming something of a guardian angel to a woman in need of protection. But, as opposed to the first, this time director Keaton's fully committed and this one is more of a puzzle film, with Keaton's contract killer, John Knox, having to solve two problems simultaneously, both as them as personal as could be. 

It's not territory Knox is familiar with, as he's as cold as they come, not even wanting to know about the individuals he's hired to kill. He doesn't need a reason, as much as his partner Tom Muncie (Ray McKinnon), tries to justify the murders they've been hired to commit ("because in ten minutes, Tommy, he's not gonna be anybody"). He just does the job, cleans up the scene to avoid suspicion, then goes away. He's a bit of a ghost. The record has him ex-Army ("Deep Reconnaissance Officer") and he did a stretch for tax evasion (of all things) but, given his trade, it could have been a lot worse.

But, Knox is smart. He's extremely well-read—someone says he has 10,000 books in his house—majored in English Lit and History and he has the nickname of "Aristotle" that he got in the Army for always having a book in his hand. And he survives by his wits. His assets are all neatly tucked away, and he has few strings attached—he had a wife and kid, but they've been out of the picture since prison—except for co-workers, like Muncie, and "acquaintances" in the business. There's a hooker (Joanna Kulig), who shows up like clockwork every week (Knox lends her books).

He survives by his wits. But, his first problem is they're starting to fail him. A visit to a neurologist and an E-ticket through an MRI gives him good news and bad news—he doesn't have Alzheimer's (as he feared), he has CJD—Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease—which is worse. Statistically, 70% of people die within a year of diagnosis, but Knox has weeks, not months. The forgetfulness will increase, there'll be hallucinations, coordination issues, vision problems...then dementia, palsy, coma, then his brain will just stop making him breathe...The Big Erasure. "I'm sorry," the neurologist says lamely. "S'okay, Doc" says Knox. "Even if I hated you for telling me, I'd forget soon enough."

Knox keeps it quiet. He tells Muncie their upcoming job will be his last one—that he's "going away" (truer words...)— and then he'll start "putting his affairs in order" as the doctor recommended. But, that last job of his goes bad, he screws it up when he has "an episode", proving that he's not too good at this "death" business when it happens to take the lead. He makes due with the clean-up, for all the good it'll do, but it's botched and there's nothing he can do about it. The cops are gonna see through the inconsistencies and start looking around. He's losing it and he knows it. Now, he has to work fast.

Then, the other problem happens and it's one he can't ignore, as taxing as it is on his dwindling resources. In a way, it's a similar but more complicated scenario than the issues he had to just make-do with on the botch-job. But he has to get this one right. He cannot fail at this because it'll screw up everything else that he's planned in "putting his affairs in order." But, his disease will make the likelihood of screwing up that much more likely...and he has to be precise. He has to get it right.

So, he goes to an old contact in "the business," Xavier Crane (Al Pacino, doing some of the most subtle work he's done in ages). Crane is retired (although he keeps reminding Knox "you know I'm a thief"), but Knox asks him a big solid: look at his plans, check them, make sure they're right...and, if they are, check in with Knox...daily...to make sure things are going on schedule and monitor Knox's condition. Crane becomes caretaker to Knox and his plan...and it's one the old pro doesn't take lightly.

I'm not saying anything about what Knox has to deal with—for one thing, it's really spoilery, and for another, it's a bit problematic—it's a little too convenient that it happens just at that time (one keeps expecting a twist that says the whole thing's a set-up but it doesn't), but one could, if being generous, explain it away using the "life's what happens when you're busy making other plans" trope. But, everything is so inextricably linked that it's actually far more resonant than if all Knox had to do was liquefy his assets and make sure that everything is "clean."

What Knox does in the ensuing couple of weeks will only reinforce one's confusion about his condition—what is he doing? Why is he doing that? Is he losing it? Truth be told, he is, but he's working on a scheme he came up with years ago...with an awful lot of last-minute improvisation. But, he's gotta do it without screwing up. Meanwhile, on a parallel track, the cops—in the form of Detective Emily Ikari (Suzy Nakamura, who's so good) and her partner, Rale (John Hoogenakker)—are looking at how Knox "cleaned up" that last hit and it just isn't adding up as what Knox wanted it to look like. And they're starting to circle around Knox as the forensics start to come in, confirming their theories. It's just a matter of time, something Knox doesn't have.

Like I said, this one is better than people say it is. I don't know what the issue is—maybe it's too complicated for today's entertainment "journalists" or maybe a lot of the stuff just goes over people's heads, but it's a lovely exercise in how one deals with a "post-'Dateline'" world of micro-forensics, DNA research, cell-phones, and a security camera on every street corner. It's intricate without broad strokes and there are a lot of sly subtleties in the script, direction and acting.

Keaton's great in this, certainly as an actor, but—as he showed in setting up shots on The Merry Gentleman—he has a good eye for story-telling camera placements of a certain moody edge...without the burden of the "attention-getting" tricks that early directors fall prey to. I did have some issues with how he portrayed Knox's condition—it didn't seem like Alzheimer's to me—but then reading up on CJD with its dementia AND hallucinations, I could see what Keaton was going for. Marcia Gay Harden's in this and she's terrific as Knox's ex, James Marsden might be a tad too mercurial in his part (but he's supposed to be a hot-head) and Pacino plays his wizened mentor role with the former quiet intensity of his past. It's good to have that back.

I like it for its intricacies, its resonances, and the fatalism that should run through any good film-noir. And it is a film-noir, despite the sunshine and the surprising humor that runs through it (Nakamura's delivery, for example, is as dry as a bone). I'm thinking of one particular shot of Detective Ikari near the end that in contrast to the rest of the story shows what an uncaring Universe we inhabit, no matter our intentions and competence. That shot didn't need to be there, but Keaton kept it in, and it's heart-breaking given the rest of the film. That's noir, and this little film, slipping under the radar, manages to revive the form, staying true to its inherent world of cynicism, but seeming so triumphant.

The Flash

The Blade of Grass is Always Greener in the Other Meta-verse

or

Whatever Happened to The Scarlet Speedster?

 

Let's start with a bit of history: when I was a kid (and older), I loved "The Flash" comic books. The character had a lot of history, and (for some reason) was usually the lynch-pin for any big comics event. They re-invented the character (in the comics, his identity was police scientist "Barry Allen") with a more scientific basis to create what was dubbed "The Silver Age" of comics. In 1961, when "The Silver Age" Flash managed to traverse dimensions and meet "The Golden Age" Flash from the 1940's comics, it ushered in DC Comics Multiple Earths, a fictional representation of the Multiverse Theory. When sales of his comic weren't (shall we say?) "up to speed" the publisher decided to kill the character off in "Crisis on Infinite Earths" (designed to eliminate the multiple Earths and simplify the comics line for new readers. 

 

Demand for the Silver Age Flash to be resurrected led to that happening, and then soon after DC decided to "re-boot" its entire line of comics (the idea was called "The New 52"), they decided the catalyst for the change would be The Silver Age Flash, who —due to the machinations of one of his villains—finds himself in an altered reality where he has no powers, there is no Superman, there is a Batman (but he's Thomas Wayne, as it was Bruce who was shot in the alley in that reality), there is a war going on between the Atlanteans and the Amazons, where Wonder Woman assassinated Aquaman, and so on. And the Flash has to fix all of it, and get it back to his reality...which of course, would be the "New 52" revamp. That all happened in a comics "event" called "Flashpoint"

Got all that? You might think that comics are stupid, but they sure can get complicated.

So, this movie, The Flash, has its origin-bones in that "Flashpoint" story but grafts it into the DC Movie Universe sticking to the one "changing history" aspect of it and going its own way. In it, Barry Allen (Ezra Miller), on the eve of a potentially losing appeal by his father (Ron Livingston now)—in prison for being falsely convicted of killing his wife, Barry's mother (Maribel Verdú*)—discovers that he can go back in time, and, in fact, pick-and-choose many time-lines, and affect what has happened in his past. Cautioned by Batman/Bruce Wayne (Ben Affleck) that he could haphazardly "destroy...everything," Barry figures out a way that he can alter events without actually being seen or interacting with that time-line in order to prevent his mother's murder.

Yeah, well, going back in time to change things is...never easy. In fact, the only thing tougher is pleasing a rabid movie/comic fan-base with singular expectations of what would make a "good" Flash movie—is it related to the TV show? ("why not?"), Michael Keaton's Batman is in it? How about Val Kilmer's? ("why not?") What about "poor" Henry Cavill?—and for every "slight" to their expectations, the "Rotten Tomatoes" meter will drop closer and closer to a green blotch (as if that mattered). No, The Flash will not meet an awful lot of people's "wish lists." It's not world-building. Quite the opposite. It's not setting up the next chapter of a franchise (like we're used to). It is a self-contained story that could conceivably not have—or need—a sequel. It's just considering the possibilities. It's what DC used to call in the Silver Age "An Imaginary Story." Writer Alan Moore ("Watchmen," "V for Vendetta," "Batman: The Killing Joke," "From Hell") had the best rejoinder: "Aren't they all?"

So, how is it? I'll use a word that hasn't been much used since comic-movie-makers have been striving to make their super-heroes "credible"—"Let's dress them in leather!" "Let's make them bad-asses!"—it's hilarious.

And hilarious in a good way! From it's opening sequence where Barry Allen (Miller) aka "The Flash" must spend an excruciating amount of time waiting for his carb-filled PB&J order and gets interrupted by a call from the Justice League (well from Wayne butler, Alfred—Jeremy Irons) to race over to Gotham City where thieves have stolen a toxin from a local hospital. Thieves being so smart they're dumb, they've managed to undermine the foundation of the hospital where it's at the brink of collapse. While Bat-fleck goes after the thieves, Barry-Flash must save the people trapped in the hospital. What ensues is a sequence straight out of Rube Goldberg by way of Buster Keaton, as The Scarlet Speedster, must save falling babies out of maternity ward by "any means necessary." And in Barry's perceived bullet-time, all those babies each have their own individual perils that he must solve in the—to him—excruciatingly long time it takes them to fall.

Director Andy Muschietti has filled the sequence with such giddy malice that one cannot take any of it too seriously, especially when he and scenarist Christina Hodson build on the sequence, complicating it with more dangers that Flash has to solve. Sure, Batman gets to use all his toys for an extended chase, that strains credulity, dragging him along Gotham highways in the sturm-and-drangy way we've become accustomed to, but The Flash sequence sets up an atmosphere that dilutes suspense in favor of a pell-mell momentum that's rather exhilarating.

We'll stop there for a synopsis over-view because to say anything more would be like spoiling the punch-line of a joke. It's not as funny—or, at its core, surprising—if you can anticipate how it all ends. There are just too many twists and turns and laterals and feints that will be telegraphed, ruining little moments and small that are intended to take you places you had no idea were coming, or even existed. If you think you know what's coming, you're just wrong, even for all the hints and speculations that leaked out in the marketing.

Key to making this work is Ezra Miller. I've always had problems seeing him as The Flash and his presentations in both versions of Justice League (but especially Joss Whedon's) where he was a manic goof-ball and grating comic relief. But, Miller comes out of his supporting-role comfort zone and proves that he can carry a big splashy movie with amazing ease. And he's a hell of a performer, playing two versions of the same character, but with two different histories and stages of development. That's a trick in itself, but Miller makes it look easy, with a gutsy level of letting himself look stupid without losing the basic integrity of the character and making the drama and emotion of the thing work. And for all the manic energy that he throws out, he still manages to have one of the best dead-pan reactions for comedy. Say what you will about him (and everybody has!), but he's just damned good in this.

What else are people talking about? Oh...cameos! Yes, there are cameos, both voluntary and not. And, yes, Keaton is great—he always is. And the "Supergirl" we're introduced to (Sasha Calle) is terrific.

And the special effects? There's been a lot of kvetching about that, but an early sequence in what will be called the chrono-globe (or some such—maybe we should call it "The Uncanny Valley?") sets up a non-photo-realistic quality that carries out throughout the rest of those sequences (assuming that's what everybody is talking about—I have no previous experience with what constantly shifting time-lines actually look like, so I couldn't judge!) that generally smudges perceptions of what we think we should be seeing.

I could quibble with a prolonged sequence based on Man of Steel where Michael Shannon seems less than engaged, but director Muschetti has always had an observable weakness when it comes to big set-pieces. One would have thought if he could juggle a bunch of falling babies, he could handle a super-hero slug-fest on four fronts, but it falls just shy of being super. I wasn't crazy about the "never-ending battle" in Man of Steel for that matter.

But, was I entertained? Heck, yeah. As much as when I used to close the cover of a good comic-book. So much so that I didn't mind when Muschetti pulls off a final "gotcha" that was just as amusing as its meant to be, upending people's pre-concieved notions and messing with their minds. It's a story, after all. One with limitless possibilities and a perverse willingness to "go there."

 

Aren't they all?

 

Well, no. But, they should be.

* One of the many joys of The Flash is to see Verdú again, who was in Coppola's Tetro, del Toro's Pan's Labyrinth, and Y Tu Mama Tambien.

The Founder

The Founder (John Lee Hancock, 2005) "Build a better mouse-trap and people will beat a path to your door." That's how the old saw goes to inspire a capitalist economy. But, old saws can become rusty with the new tools of business acquisition, mergers, takeovers (hostile and non) and buy-outs. They're enough to take those better mousetraps and have their builders snapped by their own inventions.

 

Take McDonald's. The world-wide phenomenon had humble beginnings...but few locations. At the beginning, it was successful—the efficiency and fine-tuning that went into it producing Mcburgers on an industrial scale like Henry Ford's assembly lines almost insured it. But efforts to expand it fell by the way-side like so many paper wrappers due to consistency issues, as in quality control or an arbitrary change of menu on the part of the manager. The originators—Richard and Maurice McDonald—could manage their one San Bernardino location. But, out of sight/out of managerial control was the order of the day. Without the McDonald boys riding herd, the others were the Wild, Wildly Unprofitable West.

Which is when Ray Kroc (Michael Keaton) wanders into town. John Lee Hancock's peripatetic little film tells the story of how Kroc made a multi-national corporation out of a hamburger stand and created an empire that straddles the oceans with golden arches. Kroc starts the film out as a salesman for "5-spindle" milkshake mixers for the company Price Castle. We watch as he goes down the road, lugging his mixer sample going from drive-in to drive-in, delivering his message of positivity and opportunity: "You increase the supply, and the demand will follow... Increase supply, demand follows. Chicken, egg. Do you follow my logic? I know you do because you're a bright, forward thinking guy who knows a good idea when he hears one."

But, even Ray is starting to sour on it, as he goes from crappy drive-in to crappy drive-in where the service is shoddy, the wait is frustrating, and the scenery is a bunch of JD's hanging out with nothing better to do. He props up his no-sales attitude with "Power of Positive Thinking" motivational records until he follows up an order for eight of his multi-spindle milkshake mixers at a location in San Bernardino, California. What he sees is different. People are lining up to get food. He goes up to a window, orders a burger, fries and a shake, all for 35¢...and it's given to him right there right then. "What's this?" "It's your food." Knife, fork? Nope. Just eat it. Where? "Anywhere you want."

Ray is dazzled, not only by the efficiency, but also the line of people who get served pretty darn quick. He goes to meet the managers Dick (Nick Offerman) and Mac (John Carroll Lynch), who are only too proud to show him their set-up (and grateful for the mixer order being delivered), but also are dying to tell him their story of failure after failure...movie theaters, other restaurants...until they came up with the formula, their "Speedee Service System" a designed, engineered, even choreographed assembly line that guarantees a steady supply of product with no customer-waiting and an iron-grip on quality control that ensures cleanliness of the facility and consistency of product.

Kroc is besotted with the earning possibilities of the restaurant and spends his return trip thinking up angles. The McDonald's formula is basically set-and-forget and is a money-maker and he wants in. But, these guys, the McDonalds, have shown him everything, every secret that they have, and detailed plans for a prototype restaurant design (with attention-getting "golden arches") that is small, efficient and easily copied. He doesn't steal all of this information. Instead he suggests franchising the thing with the McDonalds in a partnership—they already tell him that franchising doesn't work, that there are other "McDonalds" restaurants, but with varying menus and a lackadaisical approach to efficiency and quality control. Kroc convinces them, after info-gathering visits to those owners, that their success CAN be repeated...if only their plans are followed to the letter. To the very proud and meticulous thinker Dick, this is music to his ears, and they go into business with their apparently like-minded partner. 

Kroc mortgages his house (without telling his wife, played by Laura Dern) and starts to make plans to open those "golden arches" restaurants in the mid-West to much fanfare, with his face as the main booster for the new locations—with Dick and Mac already busy with their original place in San Bernardino. He follows their plans, their hiring practices, their choreography, everything, but insinuates himself with the powers-that-be that okay the locations and see him as each community's "rain-maker," a role that the salesman in Kroc likes. He wants to expand further, faster, but the profit margin of each restaurant is too low to build at the pace he wants, so he proposes changes. He gets firm "no's" to the changes by Dick, but Ray goes ahead with the changes at every location...except the brothers' San Bernardino location. 

Already the partnership is starting to fracture. But, it was doomed to fail from the beginning, even as it began to explode. Dick and Mac are inventors; Ray is a salesman. Dick and Mac take pride in their work and are content to maintain the status quo; Ray never had to do the work they did, but appreciates the brilliance of the ideas, recognizes it's a winner and wants to be the man behind the dream. Dick and Mac are thinking about McDonald's; Ray is thinking about himself. A quote in a book I just read* says "Ideas are the trash of the business. Execution is everything." And Ray knows how to execute...in all senses of the term.

Ray will eventually and literally "drink their milkshake" (in the psuedo-profunditry of the line from There Will Be Blood) through a series of agreements and one out-of-the-box thought given to him by an accountant (B.J. Novak)("You're not in the hamburger business...you're in the real estate business") that would never have occurred to the original McDonalds, so concentrated are they on maintaining their original business that they can't see the future for the present. It's the difference between givers and takers and evolution is a bitch. And learning new lessons can be hard.

It's a wonderful film about the American Dream and the Individual's Nightmare, and how a good idea can be stolen right out from under you. Hancock's direction is straightforward and fast-moving, enhanced by a wickedly fast-paced editing style. And acting honors go to Offerman, but especially Keaton, who easily transitions from huckster to shuckster to diabolical kingpin without seeming to show the difference between them. Keaton is always fun to watch, even when his characters turn your smile into a toothsome rictus, and the film is an amazing thing to watch.

Just don't be surprised that your next meal at MickeyD's might have a bitter taste you didn't notice before.

 

* The Big Bang Theory: The Definitive, Inside Story of the Epic Hit Series" by Jessica Radloff