Amy Schumer ruins the show
Fantastic episode. The two best episodes of the 4 so far have had no Amy Schumer and no Cara Delevigne. Imagine that.
I knew that quite a few people had complained about the realism in this movie even though it hold high ratings on most movie sites. I was hoping that the complaints were mostly nitpicking like wrong model of Sherman tank and such like. Well, I am afraid that it was a bit more than that. I would say that this movie is clearly written by some Hollywood writer sitting in his comfy chair and never ever having been close to any military activities, not to mention live action, in his life.
I can live with a movie being inaccurate or somewhat unrealistic if the rest of the movie is good but I have to say that I did not really like the movie even after trying to filter out the unrealistic nonsense.
The movie is very dark and gritty and there are really no likeable characters in it whatsoever. Well, the clerk that got thrown in as a tank machinegun gunner was perhaps somewhat likable but then him getting assigned as a tank machinegun gunner in the first place was one of those nonsensical bits. In this movie the “heroes” are not really any better than the Nazis. The scene where “Wardaddy” forces previously mentioned clerk to shoot an unarmed POW is just disgusting. I am sure this is not too far from reality in some cases during the war but I’ll be damned if I am watching a movie to be entertained by it.
Having said that I must also say that the movie was very well done in terms of acting and cinematography with one exception. The ridiculous overuse of tracer bullet effects. Tracer bullets do not look like you are in a Star Wars movie and yes I have been using tracer bullets during my military service, obviously unlike the producer and consultants (if they had any) of this movie.
The pacing of the movie was somewhat uneven. Some of it was fairly fast paced but then some parts, like the part in the apartment of the two German women was quite slow and somewhat dull.
The “last stand” at the end was just silly and nonsensical. It started pretty much right away when the poor clerk spots the arriving German infantry just using his eyes. Then it just takes forever until they actually arrive so our “heroes” have all the time in the world to prepare. There would of course be no way for a lone Sherman to hold off an assault like that and the Germans would of course not be charging around shooting useless fine caliber weaponry against said Sherman. Also when they had all this time to prepare why the f… did they leave some of the ammo outside the tank? Obviously because some dumb scriptwriter thought it would make for a good scene. And do not get me started on the fact that the Germans apparently just stops in their tracks every time the director thinks it is time for some slow scene inside the tank.
The ending? Well I do not like bad endings and this one certainly did not give me any feeling of reward for having suffered through over two hours of this movie. Needless to say I am a tad disappointed.
[4.8/10] The Polar Express is based on a thirty-page children’s book. I loved that book when I was a kid, but part of what I appreciated about is that it was a straightforward dose of imagination. It’s less a story than a chance to put yourself in the shoes of the protagonist, and picture yourself on a trip to the North Pole to meet Santa Claus himself. There’s very little conflict, very little in terms of identifiable characters, with most of the space filled in with wonder and atmosphere.
That’s a good thing in a children’s book. Mood and setting and pure fun should be the order of the day. But there was reason to be concerned about the attempt to translate the book to the silver screen. Would director Robert Zemeckis add in more conflict and story beats? Would he be able to replicate that infectious spirit from the source material? Would he be able to expand a short and simple story to cinematic length?
The answer to all three of these questions is “No, not really.” The movie version of The Polar Express adds more perfunctory, underdeveloped characters and overblown action sequence to fill out its ninety minute run time, loses the charm of the original in a tsunami of ugly and at times even disturbing CGI designs and animation, and finds little reason this needed to be a feature-length film rather than a thirty-minute special.
In addition to the original boy from the book, Zemeckis adds in a “spirited girl”, a “know-it-all boy” and “Billy” the boy who is lonely (read: poor). It’s not the worst idea to try to broaden the cast from the book to help make the story feel more lived-in and less centered on one single character. But none of these kids, including our protagonist, has a personality. Instead, they’re each just bland archetypes or walking jokes, that makes it hard to invest in any of their journeys here.
That might work better if everything in this movie didn’t look utterly hideous. I’m loathe to critique the quality of computer-generated images from fifteen years ago. But the truth is that Zemeckis chose to spearhead a motion capture effort at photorealism in 2004 regardless of whether the technology and results were ready for primetime or not. This movie has problems beyond its aesthetics, but it’s not hard to imagine some lovely, hand-drawn animation conveying the warmth and magic of the original book absent the glowing, animated corpse look that so pervades The Polar Express’s jump to the silver screen.
The children in particular look legitimately creepy. The elves seem more like escapees from a local freak show than whimsical beings. And while the backgrounds and physical objects veer less into the Uncanny Valley than the human figures do, there’s still an antiseptic quality to the whole presentation that robs the film of any visual splendor to help offset its filler-stuffed runtime.
In truth, the only time the movie really works is when it’s going for a vaguely horror vibe. There are times when The Polar Express aims to be a little scary, whether its our protagonist running into a mysterious man who seems to live on top of the train or a train car full of discarded marionettes, and it makes me wish that Zemeckis and company had attempted to use this budding technology and its unsettling, not-quite-there approximations of the human form and visage, for something meant to chill rather than warm the heart.
But heartwarming is what The Polar Express is built for, however shoddily or creepily. The throughline of the story is that the young boy at the center of the narrative has lost his belief in Santa Claus, and it takes this adventure to restore his faith in the big red sprite. That sense of dwindling belief, restored by an extraordinary experience, is one of the clearest connections between the film and the book and, not coincidentally, is one of the few potent elements of the production.
The film dramatizes our protagonist’s waning belief in Santa with magazine clippings and overheard conversations. That doubt is replaced by a renewed sense of wonder in what is really the only actual story or arc in The Polar Express, with a sleigh bell working as a metonym for the young boy’s ability to buy in to the spirit of the season.
And in one of the few touches made possible (or at least made easier) by the shift to CGI, Tom Hanks plays the boy’s father, the train conductor, a mysterious quasi-magical train hobo, and Santa himself. That not only contributes to the Peter Pan-esque “It was all a dream” sense of the whole thing, but suggests a deeper, maybe even subconscious understanding that the magic of the season comes from the hard work and love of one’s parents, that we can feel even if we can’t quite resolve our conflicting feelings in that tender time between childhood and adulthood.
The problem is that The Polar Express loses that thread in a wash of action-y nonsense. Left with a bare bones children’s story and ninety minutes of airtime to fill, Zemeckis doesn't choose to flesh our his characters or deepen the narrative stakes. Instead, we get a strange rube goldberg sequence of a flyaway ticket, a pair of forgettable Disney knockoff tunes, a runaway train escapade, and a Star Wars prequel-esque jaunt through Santa’s factory.
It’s in these moments that the film feels more like a tech demonstration. These outings have little or nothing to do with the characters or the story or even the general tone of the piece. They’re just a chance for Zemeckis and his team of designers and animators to show off. That might work better on a sheer spectacle level if this approach to animation hadn’t aged so quickly and so poorly. But what’s left a decade and a half later is a film that feels like it’s more enamored with its own rapidly-decaying special effects than in realizing the heart at the center of the thing it’s adapting.
Sometimes, working from a lightly-sketched bit of source material can be a godsend. It gives you space to explore and expand rather than having to be beholden to what you’re extrapolating from. But The Polar Express squanders that opportunity, replacing the warmth and light of the original book with dead eyes and hollow spectacle. It doesn't give kids a reason to believe in magic; it only gives them reason to want to watch a better realization of the spirit of the season, and maybe be afraid that freaky revivified Xmas mannequins will come to get them if they don’t believe hard enough. Get ‘em however you can, I guess.
[7.4/10] I increasingly think of stories in terms of character arcs. How does the protagonist grow and change over the course of the story? What is the catalyst for their transformation. Why are they different at the end of the tale than at the beginning? It is, admittedly, a myopic view of storytelling, one that unfairly marginalized more plot-driven works or stories that don’t fit so neatly into boxes. But it’s the default lens I find myself watching and reading and thinking about great stories through.
And I think part of that comes from A Christmas Carol in all its many forms. While not the first story to show growth and change in its protagonist, it is arguably the plainest and most enduring in the Western canon. Scrooge is a miser and a grump. He’s shown the error of his ways by divine intervention. And when he emerges on the other side of that spiritual journey, he is a changed man.
In some ways it’s bog simple. But there’s a potency within that simplicity. The 1999, TNT-sponsored retelling of that famous story focuses on the catalyst for that change in Scrooge. While it hits the same beats that any quasi-faithful adaptation of the Charles Dickens classic must, it spends its adaptive ammo on the man that Scrooge was, the emotional connections that let him realize the depth of his folly, and the man that he eventually becomes after such a piercing dose of epiphany.
The anchor of that transformation is, as inevitable in any production of A Christmas Carol, Scrooge himself. Patrick Stewart acquits himself quite well in the roll, selling the gruff resentfulness of the humbugger before his spiritual challenge, the conflictedness of the man facing the shadows of his past, present and future, and the mirthful being given a second chance by the fates.
Stewart is a pro throughout, who does his best work in the middle portion of the film, where the audience feels its protagonist being pulled back and forth between his lucre-worn principles and the heartstring-tugs of a different path that lay before him. Perhaps his most interesting choice comes when he’s confronted by the three spirits in the comfort of his bedchamber, seeming to treat them as a bit of a nuisance he’d rather do without instead of a set of frightful spectres whom he should regard with awe. It adds a touch of light, almost casual humor to an outsized situation.
The TV movie leans into the imaginative nature of the scenario by including a fair dose of special effects in the story, some of which work better than others. Jacob Marley’s ghastly haunting works, with the semi-transparent apparition bridging the gap between straight horror and lamenting human who’s feebly grasping a fraying tie to the living. By the same token, the film includes some clever transitions between Scrooge’s bedroom and the places past and present that the three ghosts mean to transport him to, from a bed of leaves replacing his hardwood floors, to a spill of apples leading him outdoors.
But in others, a certain chintziness of the T.V. production stands out. A section in the middle portion of the film, meant to illustrate the plight of working class folks far beyond the visibility or appreciation of Scrooge, loses itself in the cheesiness of late-nineties computer-generated tornadoes and obvious green screen effects. In the same way, bits like the Ghost of Christmas Future or Scrooge stepping through walls have a vaguely stagey quality that betrays the integrity of the television medium.
Still, the performers do a superb job of balancing out the “of its time” aesthetic choices with timeless personal acting choices. Dominic West as Scrooge’s nephew, Fred, brings a committedly cheery counterpoint to his uncle’s inveterate gruffness. And Richard E. Grant as Scrooge’s clerk, Bob Cratchet, manages to communicate both a certain respectful fear of Scrooge in his master’s presence, while also shifting to the lovable head of an endearing household when in his own chambers.
Both provide key features to the film. For Fred, one of the major choices this adaptation makes is to emphasize Scrooge’s connection to his nephew through Scrooge’s dearly-departed sister. There’s a familial connection there, the revived bond between siblings that the old codger had forgotten in the throes of his workaholic wealth, that adds emotional depth to Scrooge taking up Fred’s offer to join him on Xmas. That choice, in both the film’s flashbacks and pronouncements from its ghosts, makes Scrooge’s decision to join his nephew for the holiday and apologize to his niece-in-law for his absence, one freighted with his lost connection to a sister who once encouraged his more mirthful and loving side.\
For Cratchet, the film captures, better than any other adaptation, the sheer warmth and heartstring-tugging joy of the holiday season. Ah to be at the Cratchits’ table, a party to the love and cheer that suffuses each moment they’re together, and drives home better than anything else the type of wealth that Bob enjoys despite his station in life, one that Scrooge could never hope to know absent a great, personal change. In the same way, there’s a carefree cheerfulness to Fezziwig’s celebration, one steeped in freewheeling fun that reminds Scrooge of what he once appreciated in a boss and a merry-maker.
As much as Dickens’s story is a sober warning against the ill-fate that awaits those who prioritize material wealth over spiritual wealth, it’s also a simple reminder of the down home pleasures one forsakes when pursuing the former over the latter.
So we exalt when Scrooge exalts. We lament when Scrooge laments. The penultimate section of the film, when Scrooge sees the world hardly blink at his departure from this world, the film stalls out a bit, spending too much time with barely-drawn characters and an obvious (albeit textually-mandated) point. But otherwise, this adaptation ably gives us the major beats of the season’s most renowned tale of transformation.
Those beats are as straightforward as they are imaginatively delivered. Scrooge is a penny-pinching grumbler who loathes Xmas. He sees the fun and connections he used to experience in his youth, the joys of family and friendship he’s missing in the present, and the hardships inflicted on others and abject fate that lies for him in the future if he continues down this path. Faces with all that good and bad, his faith and appreciation and empathy is renewed.
It is, in many ways, the most basic of arcs. Jacob Marley himself signposts these steps. But it works because of something elemental inside us, that believes when presented with the vision and the opportunity, each of us can change for the better, especially when the spirit of the season gives us a little extra push.
The premise is odd, but the result is spectacular. Michael Kitchens' DCS Christopher Foyle is smart and witty and commands respect without even trying. The plot twists are exciting if a bit contrived (I truly hope Hastings doesn't really have the murder rate depicted here!), and the way that the crimes and pursuits are integrated into the background of wartime England keeps everything very relevant. The balance between drama and levity is perfect. Just when you think things are just going to be dour and boring, you are rewarded with a subtle, dry, and witty comment by Mr. Foyle. He is the main reason I keep watching, but the supporting cast is fantastic as well. Honeysuckle Weeks' Sam Stewart is awkward in a very charming way as she drives the Detective Chief Superintendent around Hastings, helping solve crimes in her own way. Anthony Howell's DI Paul Milner can come across as dull, but he has more depth that is revealed as the show progresses. I sometimes feel like this show was made for me haha! It is very British in every way, and ever since I finished Downton Abbey I feel I have to have at least one British show in my rotation at all times. This is one of the best.
This was playing on a nearly continuous loop throughout the better part of my childhood, but as I hadn't seen it in over two decades, I was basically watching it again for the first time. It doesn't hold up magnificently and bows to a huge number of clicheés from the decade's pop-friendly films, but still retains a strong sense of endearing sincerity and naïveté. The back of my mind kept reminding me of how terribly hackneyed the story and characters were, but that wasn't always enough to wipe the stars out of my eyes nor the grin from my face.
It's a staggeringly rudimentary plot - teen going nowhere in life gets a high score in a video game, only to learn it was a secret recruiting tool for an intergalactic war - but a thorough coating of childlike whimsy and wonder, plus a few startlingly good special effects (given the era) are just enough to pull it back from the brink. Anyone younger than twenty will likely roll their eyes and snort at its simplicity, but audiences with a memory of the eighties should enjoy it for the sentimentality alone.
