Year of release: 2020 Directed by Brent Wilson
How many people know who Lina Wertmüller is? I doubt many. Going a little further back in film history, do the names Lois Weber and Alice Guy mean anything? Some readers may know John Singleton, but I’d be surprised if anyone other than highly astute film enthusiasts knew Oscar Micheaux. To be honest, I didn’t know who he was until I looked up some black film history to write this review.
At the same time, if I mentioned D. W. Griffith, the chance of recognizing the name of the director of Birth of a Nation and Intolerance is much higher than the five directors I mentioned in the first paragraph. Those two films receive much higher acclaim and critical study than Falling Leaves, Hypocrites, or Suspense, even though those films predated Griffith’s and pioneered some of the same techniques he claimed to invent.
The difference, of course, in addition to Griffith being an aggressive self-promoter, is that he was a white man, and the history of art in most genres consists of the study of white male creations.
Music is not an exception, and Streetlight Harmonies functions as a sort of missing chapter in a music history textbook. That is not to make this documentary about the origins of doo-wop sound dry and pedantic. On the contrary, the interviews with the musicians who were recording and pioneering new sounds in the ’50s and ’60s are a lively and insightful testament to the joy of creating music and the injustice of the lack of recognition they received at the time, and to much extent still do.
Perhaps the best part of the interviews is that each musician gets to tell their story, which for years was either told for them or ignored completely. We see the harm of cultural appropriation as white musicians released covers of black musicians’ songs, and the songs became associated with the white performer. Listening to performances of those covers juxtaposed with the original versions highlights the differences and the simplifying of elements that would have been less accepted by white musical traditions.
Just as importantly, listening to the performances such as Frankie Lymon and The Teenagers is an incredible experience, both for those who remember or know that music and as an introduction for anyone who did not. The performances are soulful and vibrant, and director Brent Wilson selects some truly inspiring excerpts.
Part of the film fittingly focuses on the civil rights movement, showing the hypocrisy of Americans who accepted black music but not black musicians. At the same time, the artist can never be entirely divorced from their creation, and that music began to partially change minds, at least of younger generations. Even though there was and is still a long way to go in terms of progress, listening to stories of how these artists challenged the racist status quo is nice to watch.
The influence of a genre of music that originated as friends singing on street corners is enormous. In no way to downplay the incredible achievements of The Beatles, whose legacy influenced countless artists, but without the harmonies and sounds of doo-wop, they would not have had the groundwork for many of the sounds they created.
One of the most notable things to learn in undergraduate music history courses is how many of the things we revere Johann Sebastian Bach for were ideas he learned from his predecessors and contemporaries. What makes Bach’s influence so long lasting is the way he flawlessly incorporated those ideas. However, in music school, we still learn about those other influences.
Streetlight Harmonies teaches its audience about one of the most important twentieth century musical influences, without which artists from The Beatles to The Backstreet Boys would not have succeeded. It is a music history lesson that is still badly needed, even in 2020.
Year of Release: 2019 Directed by Greta Gerwig. Staring Saoirse Ronan, Florence Pugh, Emma Watson, Eliza Scanlen, Laura Dern, Timothée Chalamet, Chris Cooper, Meryl Streep, and Tracy Letts.
One of three scenes from Greta Gerwig’s first film Lady Bird that I think about frequently is the final exchange between Saoirse Ronan’s titular senior and Sister Sarah Joan, the principal of her Catholic high school, when they discuss Lady Bird’s college essay. The nun sees through the rebellious teenager shtick and directly tells Lady Bird that her attention to the minute details of life in Sacramento reveals just how much she loves her home. Via Sister Sarah Joan, Gerwig posits that one way to show love is to pay attention.
There is so much Gerwig pays attention to in Little Women—the relationships between all of the March sisters, the music that Beth plays, Amy’s paintings, the filters and lighting for different timelines, the ink stains on Jo’s hands, the delight of children on discovering a beautiful story. All of this conveys a love of sisterhood, family life, movie making, art and literature, women authors, and above all her characters, her actors, and her audience.
Gerwig loves her audience enough to respect their intelligence. She assumes that most people in 2020 have some familiarity with the source material either through reading the novel or seeing previous film adaptations. Instead of remaking Little Women for it’s fifth silver screen adaptation, she reimagines the story in ways that highlight often overlooked elements from previous adaptations, strengthening the bonds between each of the sisters and giving each one of them their own arc.
She achieves this through her nonlinear telling of Louisa May Alcott’s famous story. This decision has earned her some criticism. To be fair, the reordering of the chronology with frequent flashbacks and crosscutting within the same timelines could be confusing for someone not familiar with the story. However, the bond among all the sisters is strengthened by Gerwig’s presentation, and her lighting and filter choices always make it clear whether we’re in the earlier or later timeline.
The earlier timeline begins with the ball at which Jo (a perfectly cast Saoirse Ronan) meets Laurie (Timothée Chalamet), and it starts seven years before the later timeline that opens the movie. The earlier timeline is always lit with a soft golden hue, contrasted with the lack of filters for the later timeline, suggesting a fond recollection of earlier years, which will serve as inspiration for the later years when Jo writes her novel.
That novel is Little Women, and Gerwig plays up the quasi-autobiographical aspects of Alcott’s novel making it clear that Jo is a stand-in for Alcott. The opening shot of Jo as she stands outside the publishing office ready to stride in to offer her first short story for publication makes clear the film’s celebratory attitude toward women succeeding in male-dominated fields. Considering film directing is another field in which women are woefully underrepresented, Gerwig’s recent Oscar snub for best director is all the more painful.
The published with whom Jo collaborates is Mr. Dashwood (Tracy Letts, an actor Gerwig clearly loves working with), and the exchanges between Letts and Ronan are as delightful as they are different from their scenes in Lady Bird. The scene that changes his mind on the quality of Jo’s writing is wonderful, and that alone makes the quasi-biographical approach worthwhile.
Following this first scene focused on Jo, the film cuts to Amy (Florence Pugh) in Paris with Aunt March (Meryl Streep) when she runs into Laurie for the first time. This juxtaposition is brilliant. First of all, it sets up Amy and Jo as dual protagonists allowing each of them to grow with one another from their more contentious times as children to their full support for one another when they’re older. Secondly, it references Jo’s rejection of Laurie’s proposal while simultaneously foreshadowing Amy and Laurie’s marriage, which is a plot point that often feels like a hurried afterthought in other film adaptations.
The nonlinear approach enables Pugh to play both the younger and older Amy, since her exact age is never specified. It’s wonderful to watch Pugh’s gradual transition from playing cavalier and immature to responsible and supportive, and she is equally believable as both.
The other sisters are introduced immediately after Jo and Amy. It’s easy to miss that Gerwig does that, but it’s a great way of highlighting the unity of the March family. Beth (Eliza Scanlen) is first seen at her piano, her passion and the thing that helps her overcome some of her shyness when she later plays Mr. Lawrence’s (Chris Cooper) piano. The acts of kindness that lead to that scenario are what temporarily extend her life. Meg (Emma Watson) is shown to have become a Marmee herself, even as she used dream of fashion and high society until that dream was replaced by another one, even if it was hard for Jo to accept that.
We meet Marmee (Laura Dern) a little bit later when Laurie takes Meg and Jo home from that first dance and meets the entire family. Dern plays the matriarch with quiet grace and compassion, but she also captures Marmee’s controlled anger and frustration that is often not included in adaptations. Dern’s balancing of emotions enables the four actresses to play off her and the safe home she provides. Gerwig once again shows the importance of a mother’s influence and relationship with a daughter or daughters.
If there’s any particular scene where the nonlinear approach pays off in spades it’s Beth’s scarlet fever and later sickness and death. Gerwig freely cuts back and forth between both illnesses, comparing and contrasting the emotions of Jo and Marmee for the two different outcomes. It is always clear which sickness is onscreen due to the filters, but the pain of losing a loved one and the joy of their recovery are felt so strongly from the way the shots are edited together.
After watching this for a fourth time, the friend with whom I saw it said afterward, “I thought Beth’s death would be easier to watch a second time, but no.” I concurred that the emotions Gerwig captured only become stronger after each viewing. The richness of relationships, joys of success, and pains of loss are all presented with care and precision by Gerwig, and each scene plays out so perfectly that the entire film becomes a celebration of the ways we, and the characters, show and live their love.
Personal recommendation: A+
For many of my friends, 2019 was a rough year. At the rate 2020 is going, this year may not be better. For myself, this was one of the most time-consuming years I’ve had in a while, as can probably be seen by the unexpected four-month hiatus I took from writing film reviews.
I saw even fewer films than I normally do, and yet there seem to be fewer that slipped through the cracks this year. I still need to catch up with Pain and Glory and Portrait of a Lady on Fire, but most of the films being placed on other yearend lists I’ve seen.
At the same time, this was one of the richest years movie-wise for this entire decade, with enough great titles to chose from that narrowing my list down to the top twenty was difficult, let alone the top ten.
I have not seen Joker. This review by Andrew Spitznas convinced me I would hate it, but in light of its surprising 11 Oscar nominations, I will make time for it, and I will keep an open mind. This essay gives me some hope it might have something of value. Regardless of how I end up feeling about it, nothing I have heard makes me think it would be in contention for the list below. You are welcome to tell me how wrong I am or how excellent my instincts are.
I have been informed that Joker features a performance of a Sondheim song, which makes it one of at least three films this year to do so. The other two made my top ten, but I still doubt Joker is on par with them.
One thing that strikes me looking over all thirty-five titles below is how many of them relate to one another. Two films about the importance of sisterhood made the top ten. There are two comedies with strong political overtones, two films about the evil of money, two films about the horrors of British imperialism, two films about opposing the Nazis, two films about people close enough to one another to drive each other insane, and two films in black and white.
The calls below are mine, and I make no claims that these are the best films from last year. Indeed, there is more than one choice that I’m sure will leave people scratching their heads. However, these are the ones that meant the most to me, and I make no apologies.
Good Films Worth Noting (35-21):
A Hidden Life, Peterloo, Transit, Ad Astra, Once Upon a Time … In Hollywood, Rocketman, Dark Waters, Burning Cane, Diane, The Report, Everybody Knows, High Life, Non-Fiction, For Sama, Waves
20. A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood (Marielle Heller) – Casting Tom Hanks as Fred Rogers was a stroke of genius, but Marielle Heller’s decision to frame the entire film as an extended episode of Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood was an ever greater stroke of genius, allowing Rogers (Hanks) to address the audience directly asking them “What do you do with the mad that you feel?”
19. Amazing Grace (Sydney Pollack & Alan Elliott) – A front row seat to watch Aretha Franklin perform is a great thing. A front row seat to watch her work with her band and choir over a two-night recording session is transcendent. Filmed in 1972, and only being released now, Amazing Grace is a testament to the power of Franklin’s music and her use of her talent for the glory of God.
18. Apollo 11 (Todd Douglas Miller) – For anyone who was not alive for the original moon landing, this documentary recreates the excitement and awe with visuals and sound that place the viewer right alongside the NASA scientists and more stunningly the astronauts taking the first steps on the moon.
17. Light from Light (Paul Harrill) – A modern day ghost story starring Marin Ireland and Jim Gaffigan beautifully and sensitively explores the human need for connection—both physical and spiritual—as a single mother investigates whether a recent widower is receiving communications from his late wife.
16. The Lighthouse (Robert Eggers) – Eggers’ follow up to The Witch is a Lynchian nightmare in the middle of the sea. Robert Pattinson and Willem Dafoe play two men assigned to keep the titular lighthouse, but mermaids, gulls, and their own paranoias being to drive them insane. It’s a descent into madness and warning of the dangers of obsession, but a breathtaking and stunning one to behold.
15. The Nightingale (Jennifer Kent) – On the one hand, this is a brutal story bluntly stating that colonialism is horrible and screwed over women, immigrants, and people of color. At the same time, it’s a brilliant frustration of the rape-revenge narrative, showing how futile violence is, especially in a world run by and for the most powerful. Kent subjects the audience to horrors that surpass her debut film, The Babadook, but she celebrates solidarity between victims of different backgrounds and shows the true cost and goodness of progress in a way that prevents this from becoming gratuitous or exploitative.
14. One Child Nation (Nanfu Wang & Lynn Zhang) – A sobering documentary about the horrific effects of China’s one child policy and the unwitting accomplices to that policy around the world. In tracing her own childhood co-director Nanfu Wang reveals the horrors and abuse against women, children, and families that stemmed from blindly following orders and a nation’s desire to put profits ahead of people. As a stark contrast to the subject matter, the beauty of children and celebration of life remind the audience and the directors what China stole from its citizens. Most striking is witnessing Wang’s own journey as she cross-examines the propaganda she was taught throughout her childhood.
13. Missing Link (Chris Butler) – After several weaker entries, Laika studios have returned to the top of their game, or at least very close to it, with this Jules Verne-ian tale about Sir Lionel Frost (Hugh Jackman), an arrogant British explorer who goes to America to prove the existence of the Sasquatch (Zach Galifianakis). As with Laika’s previous films, wokeness forms an inherent part of the plot, but here it’s not tacked on as gratuitous moralizing, instead being an integral part of the story. The visuals are as stunning as ever, and the labor of love about leaving old dreams behind for newer and better ones and overcoming prejudice is as timely as ever. Best of all it eschews many of the cliches that have plagued family films of late. (full review)
12. Shadow (Zhang Yimou) – Political intrigue, double crossing, honor, and exquisite martial arts all take center stage in this story of an elaborate coup between opposing kingdoms in ancient China as one king’s desire to honor a peace treaty clashes with his general’s desire to avenge his honor. Yimou’s choreography of the martial arts is some of his most stunning work ever, and the black and white cinematography heightens the looming tragedy and breakdown of trust and relationships in games of political intrigue, in which everyone puts their own interests first, even if it seems otherwise.
11. They Shall Not Grow Old (Peter Jackson) – If anyone ever wanted to imagine what it would have been like to live through a battle in a WWI trench, Peter Jackson manages to place them there with They Shall Not Grow Old, a documentary constructed from WWI footage and letters from the trenches. It’s a stunning technical achievement that rivals Jackson’s groundbreaking special effects from two decades ago in The Lord of the Rings, but also a painful reminder that war is hell, evoking compassion for the soldiers forced to suffer through the barbarity, keeping their memories alive. In many ways, the contrast between the humanity of the soldiers and the carnage of the battlefield maintains a Tolkien-esque spirit that possibly surpasses what he captured of the same in The Lord of the Rings.
The Top Ten
10. Frozen II (Chris Buck & Jennifer Lee) – Is this one of the ten greatest cinematic achievements from 2019? Probably not. Is it a very good musical, with beautifully written songs that are placed perfectly throughout the film for maximum emotional impact? Absolutely. I’ve seen it twice now, and the sisterly bond between Anna and Elsa (once again Kristen Bell and Idina Menzel) that was the heart of first film is even stronger here. Robert Lopez and Kristen Anderson-Lopez’s songs likewise top the strong score of the original film, building from the opening lullaby to Elsa’s inspiring power ballad to Anna’s heart-wrenching testament to the difficulty of change and loss. Along the way, Olaf provides even wittier comic relief, and Kristoff and Sven continue their welcome support with a thematically cohesive song of their own. (full review)
9. By the Grace of God (François Ozon) – I’m sure this has already been called the French Spotlight, but that description is misleading, because this chronicle of sexual abuse in the Catholic Church is not a story of investigate journalism bringing a monstrous evil to light, but a tale of survival from the perspective of three victims. Ozon balances the shifting narrative from one victim to the next perfectly, organizing each chapter as a progression to the realization of the full horror, not just for the viewer but the survivors as well. Based on a true story of an abusive priest in Lyon, France and the coverup by the diocese, the importance and difficulty of speaking out are at the center of the film as the consequences of sexual abuse and the subsequent silence become more deafening and widespread.
8. The Farewell (Lulu Wang) – The opening title card of The Farewell reads “based on a true lie.” It’s a lie that exposes a cultural and generational clash between Chinese customs and American ones as well as between parents and children. Billie (Awkwafina), having grown up in America, is horrified by her family’s intentions of honoring a Chinese custom not to tell her grandmother she has cancer. The family reunion under the guise of a cousin’s wedding brings out the differences not only between the emotional Billie and the more stoic Chinese traditions, but how time and environment change all the family members. Underneath the differences, however, is a strong love that manifests itself the best way each family member knows how—even when those ways are less than ideal—and it is that love Lulu Wang captures with beauty and sensitivity.
7. The Last Black Man in San Francisco (Joe Talbot) – Why do we tell stories and what purpose do they serve? That question is at the heart of this poetic, quasi-fantasy, semi-autobiographical film about Jimmie Fails (himself) and his devotion to the house built by his grandfather in San Francisco. Directed by Fails’ childhood friend Joe Talbot and written by both of them, this film depicts not only a cultural and family legacy but a celebration of art, plays, and cinema and how all of them can help us wrestle with our past and help us prepare for the future. Deeply indebted to The Wizard of Oz, the quest of Jimmie and his friend Mont for a home that has a special emotional value for them ends up revealing the ways each individual shapes a community.
6. The Dead Don’t Die (Jim Jarmusch) – The first socially conscious comedy on this list and the second of three Adam Driver performances, The Dead Don’t Die is a typical offering of droll Jarmusch humor. Excessive fracking has shifted the earth off its axis, which interferes with the earth’s cycle around the sun, which in turn causes a zombie apocalypse. Adam Driver, Bill Murray, and Chloe Sevigny play a team of cops fighting the legions of undead, even though it’s pretty clear that the events will end badly. In the face of certain death, Jarmusch never loses his sense of humor, highlighting the importance of caring for one another, the environment, and the importance of fighting for a cause that seems hopeless. (full review)
5. Parasite (Bong Joon Ho) – The first of two movies in which money is the ultimate curse to appear in my top ten. It’s tempting to call Parasite: Shoplifters, the dark and gritty remake, but that would be selling short this melodramatic, borderline fable of class warfare. Whereas Kore-eda’s Palme d’Or winner from last year was concerned with a family motivated by altruism doing their best to survive in the only ways they know how, Bong’s film is primarily concerned with the corrupting influences of money and materialism on everyone it comes into contact with, as can be seen through the central family who are motivated more by greed than anything else. The film escalates to the finale, where Bong pushes it to an eleven, but the quasi-surreal nature throughout makes it a satisfying payoff in which the true parasite (money and the love of it) turns on its hosts, and the morbid humor punctuates the bleak atmosphere at perfect intervals to offset the tragic nature of the story.
4. Knives Out (Rian Johnson) – Probably the most fun of any movie released this year, Rian Johnson’s whodunit is a riveting mystery with a conscience and delightful sense of humor. When the 85-year-old Harlan Thrombey (Christopher Plummer) is found dead by apparent suicide and detective Benoit Blanc (Daniel Craig) is anonymously hired to investigate foul play, the greed of the millionaire’s family quickly becomes contrasted with the inherent goodness of Harlan’s assistant Marta (Ana de Armas). It’s a modern-day Agatha Christie inspired parable on “woe to you who are rich,” and as obvious as the politics are, Rian Johnson’s sizzling dialogue and eclectic cast of characters prevents the movie from ever becoming a sermon, even with villains who literally quote current political talking points. (full review)
3. I Heard You Paint Houses (aka) The Irishman (Martin Scorsese) – This may not be Scorsese’s final film; and with the streak he’s been on, I hope it isn’t. Nonetheless, it is a stunning and epic culmination to his career both as a love letter to a bygone era of cinematic gangster epics (many of them his own) and a thoughtful, heartbreaking story about the ways that violence wrecks communities, friendships, and families. Robert De Niro plays Frank Sheerhan, an Irishman whose skill at “painting houses” earns him an in with the Italian mob, notably Russell Bufalino (Joe Pesci), even as it estranges him from his family, notably his oldest daughter Peggy (Lucy Gallina, then Anna Paquin) whom Frank pushes out of his life, even as he laments her absence. The reverse aging CGI is surprisingly effective at allowing the titans to play younger versions of themselves as Frank’s recollection of his life gradually reveals the hollowness of what it was, and that now it is what it is.
2. Marriage Story (Noah Baumbach) – The second film starring Adam Driver in my top ten, and the first starring Laura Dern (so you should know what #1 is), Noah Baumbach’s brutal story of a marriage ending is unflinching in its portrayal of the ways we can hurt one another out of anger. Making that hurt even more painful is the fact that Charlie and Nicole (Driver and Scarlett Johansson) still clearly love one another, even though neither is willing to accommodate the other. A relationship this toxic may sound like excruciating cinema, but the journey of both protagonists to learn how to be alone and not use one other for their own happiness is hopeful and inspiring. It also features the best scene of the year in a soul-bearing single take performance from Driver. (full review)
1. Little Women (Greta Gerwig) – Gerwig’s approach to retelling Alcott’s famous story is one that has earned her both praise and criticism. For my money, her nonlinear approach to the story of the four March sisters is a stroke of genius—heightening the bonds between each sister, while giving each one of them their own arc. The filters are different for each timeline—golden for the earlier years of fond memories and none for the later years, enabling her to cut effortlessly between the different time periods as she juxtaposes scenes to draw comparisons that deepen the joys and sorrows of family life and sisterhood. Gerwig blatantly loves her characters, their unique personalities, their triumphs, as well as Alcott’s novel. Reuniting with Gerwig from Lady Bird, Saoirse Ronan is phenomenal as Jo, but the rest of the family stands out along with her: Florence Pugh as the carefree and later world wise Amy, Emma Watson as the quietly supportive and occasionally materialistic Meg, Eliza Scanlen as the sensitive Beth, and Laura Dern as the longsuffering Marmee who holds the family together. (full review)
Year of Release: 2019 Directed by Fernando Meirelles. Staring Jonathan Pryce and Anthony Hopkins.
As Steven Greydanus noted in his review of The Two Popes, Roger Ebert’s Memoirs of a Geisha principle applies to this movie: the more you know about the subject the harder it is to overlook the glaring inaccuracies. Deacon Greydanus has done the heavy lifting regarding some of the more outrageous claims the movie puts forward about Benedict, so I see no need to repeat the rebuttal here other than to add a few points of my own.
The notion that Benedict, “God’s Rottweiler,” was an uptight conservative holding onto the worst elements of Catholicism and Francis is a progressive reformer who will guide the Church into the 21st century is hardly original to this film. Still, it’s a preconception that gets on my nerves, partially because I think it’s very reasonable to argue that Francis is less progressive than Benedict XVI was, considering the countless times Benedict wrote about care for the environment, social justice, and was the pope who said democratic socialism is completely compatible with Catholicism.
However, since historical fiction has a valuable place and purpose—I really need to find time to write about why Amadeus is one of the greatest works of cinema, but that’s for another day—it’s worthwhile to accept the movie’s premise and review it on its own terms. I think it also fails as a work of historical fiction.
That failure is put into light partially by the most historically accurate parts: the flashbacks of a young Father Bergoglio (Juan Minujín) discerning his vocation, navigating the Argentine Dirty War as a bishop while trying to keep as many people alive as possible, and later passionately calling for economic justice. These scenes are some of the best of the movie and on their own make a compelling cinematic story of the first South American pope.
However, as promising as those scenes are, they are always followed by the fictitious meeting between Cardinal Bergoglio (Jonathan Pryce) and Pope Benedict XVI (Anthony Hopkins) that forms the bulk of the narrative. While the notions of cross-examining and changing long-held beliefs are important and interesting, the portrayal always becomes overly simplistic with the mentality of Benedict = BAD and Francis = GOOD.
The hagiographical portrayal of Francis almost makes him seem above criticism. Screenwriter Anthony McCarten and director Fernando Meirelles work hard to refute the more scandalous claims that have been leveled against Francis, but Benedict gets no such treatment. The scenes of him playing the piano are nice, and the filmmakers respect his love of reading and scholarship, but compared to the treatment Francis gets, it’s akin to Benedict’s insufficient reforms regarding the sex abuse scandal: too little, too late.
Dramatically, that’s a problem, because it undermines the climax where both pontiffs admit their shortcomings and confess to one another, but from what we’ve seen only one of them has any real need to confess. Bergoglio essentially has an Oskar Schindler moment that he could have done better, which is not a sin per se.
The confession scene also briefly portrays Benedict as more heterodox than Francis. Randomly granting absolution at the end of a conversation in which someone admits they feel remorse is not a confession, and I personally know very orthodox Catholics who would be aghast at a priest doing such a thing without the ritual of the sacrament. After an entire film in which Benedict is a strict rules follower to have him reverse course that abruptly is ludicrous.
More problematic is Benedict’s confession. I’m willing to overlook that he confesses he knew about Marcial Maciel’s crimes and did nothing (John Paul II knew and did nothing; Benedict removed him from ministry), because there were plenty of other times Benedict handled the sex abuse in the Church badly and conflating Benedict with John Paul II in this scene works with the premise. However, the cut to Bergoglio’s reaction implies that he is going to be the perfect reformer who cleans house and fixes the sex abuse problem in the Church.
To quickly summarize the failures of the past three popes in that regard: John Paul II was in denial the sexual abuse was happening, Benedict put weak, insufficient reforms in place, and Francis seems to be under the misapprehension that it’s been taken care of and he can focus his energy on climate change and economic justice. Making Francis seem like he will correct Benedict’s failures in this regard seriously downplays the extent of the sexual abuse that has plagued the Church and still does.
As a thought experiment, if the film replaced Benedict XVI with John Paul II and Cardinal Bergoglio with Cardinal Ratzinger, I think it might be less inaccurate, at least regarding the retirement subplot and Ratzinger’s reluctance to be pope. I know inaccuracies in historical fiction are beside the point, but I think that highlights how committed the filmmakers are to the notion of Francis as reformer, even at the cost of consistent characterization or real reforms.
Personal recommendation: D
Year of Release: 2019 Directed by Chris Buck and Jennifer Lee. Voices of Idina Menzel, Kristen Bell, Jonathan Groff, Josh Gad, Sterling K. Brown, Martha Plimpton, and Evan Rachel Wood.
The relationship with a sister is something to be cherished. That was the driving force behind Frozen, and it continues to be so for this originally unplanned sequel. The relationship between Anna and Elsa (Kristen Bell and Idina Menzel reprising their roles) receives more attention here, as the bond between them is once again tested in a journey into an enchanted forest, as fears of change, isolation, and issues of trust threaten to ruin their relationship once again.
If you’re saying, “didn’t they resolve those issues at the end of the first film,” yes, they did. However, since when has anyone just stopped a destructive habit after doing it for a lifetime? The unconditional love between the two sisters remains, and how they navigate threats with that as their foundation is where the sequel places its focus.
I loved Frozen when it came out. I saw it back to back days in the theater. At the time, I admitted that the secret villain twist was obviously an afterthought that didn’t work at all, but I thought everything else was fantastic, except for a couple clunker songs such as “Fixer Upper” and “Reindeer(s) Are Better Than People.” It was frustrating when Disney put all their promotions toward “Let It Go” as the best song, when it clearly was (and is) “Do You Want to Build a Snowman?”—a song about one sister begging the other for a relationship, which is the heart of the film. I can’t even hear the first notes of it without tearing up.
Some of the weaknesses have become more noticeable over time. I still enjoy Frozen immensely, although not quite as much as I originally did.
I love and appreciate this sequel more than I ever cared for the first one. The score is more uniformly excellent with fewer standout numbers, but a higher caliber of songs overall. None of them are as good as “Do You Want to Build a Snowman?” But almost all are on par with “For the First Time in Forever” and “Let It Go.” I really appreciated the way the songs set up one another and connect to the main themes of isolation and trust in the midst of life’s changes.
“All is Found” is a lullaby that sets the mood for the film that follows, promising a story of mystery and fantasy that also has a sense of tenderness in the midst of fear. “Some Things Never Change” functions similarly to “For the First Time in Forever,” but it introduces several subplots and grounds the characters in what’s most important to get them through the subsequent journey in which things will obviously change.
Elsa’s big “I want” song this time is “Into the Unknown,” which seems to be where Disney is (correctly) placing its Oscar hopes. For my money, it’s a stronger song than “Let It Go,” not only musically, but also for being the instigation of the plot and for having a satisfying dramatic answer in “Show Yourself,” which occurs in the second act of the film. Idina Menzel once again belts the demanding range with authority, transitioning from the insecurity of the verse to the confidence of the chorus.
“When I Am Older” continues the carefree shuffle from “In Summer” into another Olaf solo about learning to make sense of the world, while searching for Samantha, even if you don’t know anyone named Samantha. Josh Gad is every bit as funny as he was in the first film, and his new song here is at least as good. Olaf’s philosophical crisis is not only great comic relief, but ties into the plot nicely as well.
Kristoff (Jonathan Groff, returning) gets a longer solo than “Reindeers Are Better Than People” with “Lost in the Woods,” which is the power ballad ending the first act of the film instead of “Let It Go.” This is a brilliant idea on several levels. For most of the film the characters are literally lost in the woods and struggling to prevent themselves from becoming lost emotionally from one another. Taking the focus briefly away from the sisters appropriately heightens the conflict at the narrative center of the movie.
Anna has her own solo this time as well. Strongly emphasizing the heart of both this film and its predecessor is the relationship of the two sisters, it follows both of Elsa’s solos, indicating she cannot complete her journey without the aid of her sister. “The Next Right Thing” is also a powerful testament to finding your way out of depression and helplessness even when it doesn’t seem possible. Kristen Bell certainly does not have the voice Menzel does, but the intimacy and tenderness of her performance is a haunting complement to the virtuosity of Elsa’s songs.
As I said, “Into the Unknown” is the catalyst that sets the plot in motion. After Elsa hears a voice reminding her of her mother, she accidentally wakes up the four spirits of enchanted forest (earth, wind, fire, and water), endangering the lives of the people of Arendelle. She, Anna, Kristoff, Sven, and Olaf set off to the forest to find out what has upset the spirits and appease them before it’s too late. The main plot points are fairly obvious well in advance, but that plot is primarily a backdrop for the relationship between Anna and Elsa, which takes forefront here more powerfully than the first film.
Similar to Shakespeare’s As You Like It, the sins of the proper, civilized court are exposed and atoned for in the wild fantasy of the woods. Anyone who has seen any recent family films will probably be able to guess who committed the unatoned for sin, but once again, that’s not the main focus of this movie. The bond between sisters and friends forms the film’s center, and when people we trust betray us, monsters chase us, or any unknown confronts us, it’s those bonds that hopefully remain constant, and they form the roots from which we grow.
In the midst of his philosophical musings, Olaf asks if the enchanted forest will transform them. He then wonders what a transformation is. There’s a small one just after that when Elsa confronts the fire spirit with calmness and acceptance, making what was first seen as a monster into a cute harmless lizard. It’s a small act of kindness, which in turn foreshadows greater acts of compassion and love that allow the fears of the unknown to be a source of transformation and not destruction.
Personal recommendation: A-