The Perfection of Pixar

October 21, 2008 By 49 Comments

“Personally, I would sooner have written Alice in Wonderland than the whole Encyclopedia Britannica.”

~Stephen Leacock

Last week’s Deja Vuesday presented no decisive winner, though several posts swung single votes.  Tara chose A Billion Pixels and None of Them Wasted, and I’m going with her selection because it also has a tiebreaker which ties nicely to yesterday’s post.

A Billion Pixels was the first time my father commented on my writing for Writer Dad.

He said:

I thought your wall-e blog entry was by far your best post.  Love, Pop

We spoke later that day.  He said it was the first time he could hear me speaking as he read.

I love/adore/worship Pixar; their creative process is a bottomless well for my inspiration.  They have a few projects on the horizon, giddy with possibility.  Before I send you back, allow me to drool.  Here’s a thumbnail on a few.

Up:  This coming summer’s release.

All we know: It’s the story of an old man who finds adventure in the dusk of his life.  From what I understand, this is Pixar tipping their hat to Anime God, Hiyao Miyazaki.

1906:  Pixar’s first live action movie.

All we know: It’s a disaster flick about the 1906 San Francisco earthquake.  But, Writer Dad, disaster flicks suck.  Why would Pixar want to make that? Because Pixar is digitally recreating San Francisco circa 1906, so that we may fall in love with memories that are not ours.

John Carter of Mars:  Studios were trying to get this on the big screen back when Walt Disney abandoned it in 1937 in favor of the far simpler Snow White.  I can’t  imagine the direction animation would have gone had this had the green light instead.  Plenty have tried since, from Cameron to Spielberg, but Pixar will render a classic.

All we know: John Carter, a soldier in the Civil War, is caught in a crossfire.  He slips inside a canyon, ambles to the other side, and ends up on Mars.  This is uber cool, grown up sci-fi.  Pixar purchased the film rights from the Edgar Rice Burroughs estate and are planning a trilogy based on the series.  No word on whether it’ll be live action or CGI.  My money’s on a combination of both.  Honestly, I don’t care.  If they make it with sock puppets, I’ll still be sitting in my seat with a smile on my face.

Enjoy Deja Vuesday.  This post might have been the first to squeak with the voice of adolescence.

Writer Dad

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A Good Year

September 17, 2008 By 102 Comments

“We may be through with the past, but the past ain’t through with us.”

~ Jimmy Gator, Magnolia

This is not at all what I had planned, but then, so goes life.

I had so much fun yesterday talking about movies, it’s all I wanted to do today.  Every other email brought to my mind another happy memory; two hours of cinema followed by three of conversation (I’m an exhausting date).

1999 was so full of cinematic awesome, it busted the seams of the entire millennium.  I can’t list every great movie from that year.  Well, I could, but I’m pretty sure you’re hoping I won’t.

Because I like to stay right at the bleeding edge of what everybody’s talking about, here’s my list for some of the best films of 1999.  Movies are like tickle spots.  These are mine.  I’ll keep them short and start shorter.

Star Wars: Episode One (this wasn’t nearly as bad as everyone said), The Green Mile, American Beauty, The Talented Mr. Ripley, Eyes Wide Shut (half each, stunning and terrible), The Limey (elegantly savage), South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut, and Election (Reese Witherspoon at her best).

The Sixth Sense:  We’ve already talked about this one, so what more can I say.  It’s a perfect film.  The mood never breaks, and even after the twist ending, you can revisit to witness the elegance.  Please M. Night, treat me this well again.

 

Toy Story 2:  How many sequels improve on the original?  The Godfather II, The Dark Knight, Terminator 2, Empire Strikes Back….. crickets chirping….  Toy Story redefined animation.  Toy Story 2 took everything that worked in the first one and made it like a perfect second date.  It was Pixar’s third home run, and the ball flew further than ever before.

The Matrix:  I don’t have enough superlatives for the Matrix.  Even if I did, they’d be tired by now.  The Matrix took Japanese Anime and twisted it into seamless live action, designing camera tricks that have had a half life and a half.  It was a perfectly articulated, spiritually confident action movie.  Redefining.

Three Kings:  I haven’t seen this one in several years, but I’d be surprised if I didn’t love it as much now as I did then.  The color palette was like looking on sky I’d never seen.  This movie is cool.

The Cider House Rules:  This movie feels like a poem, but in a good way.  I loved the book, but it’s nowhere near as good as the movie.

Run Lola Run:  If you haven’t seen this, do.  You have to be in to super frenetic German movies, with a lot of people yelling “Shaizer, Lola!”  You also have to be okay with thumping techno, and the same story told three times in a row.  If you like all that, and won’t feel ripped off at eighty minutes long, this movie’s rad.

Abre Sus Ojos (Open Your Eyes):  I also enjoyed the Cameron Crowe remake, Vanilla Sky, but this one was first.  It’s less Rock N’ Roll, more like a lingering trumpet solo.

The Iron Giant:  Before Brad Bird went on to blow my mind with the Incredibles and Ratatouille, he made this masterpiece.  It’s a love letter to a bygone era, with an intrepid kid, a groovy beatnik, and a giant robot.  It was also an abject failure.  The fact that Norbit made ten million dollars more on its opening weekend than The Iron Giant did in its entire theatrical run… shame on us.

Being John Malkovich:  This introduced me to one of my favorite writers.  Charlie Kaufman went on to pen Adaptation and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.  All three scripts are so unapologetically, idiosyncratically original, they make me want to weep.  I haven’t, but the intention’s there.  No one writes like this guy.

Fight Club:  I did smell the end of this one, but it so didn’t matter.  This movie is one of the flat out best directed movies ever.  You can’t see the seams.  Brad Pitt and Ed Norton; both perfect.  This movie takes beautiful metaphor and punches it in the teeth.

Magnolia:  I saved this one for last, because… well, golly; it’s just so good.  I know this one’s not for everyone, but neither is being an astronaut.  This movie is nirvana.  Totally drunk on its own ambition, yes, but it exists fully in the world it created.  You can hear it breathing.  I will watch anything PT Anderson directs, forever.  Even if he starts doing direct to DVD mini series’ featuring stick figure versions of the Muppet Babies.  I’ll wait in line.

Writer Dad

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M. Night

September 16, 2008 By 90 Comments

“Hold on, man.  We don’t go anywhere with “scary,” “spooky,” “haunted,” or “forbidden” in the title.”

~From Scooby-Doo

My daughter sometimes says, “Am I?” instead of, “Right?.”

Example: I’m really good at making jokes, am I?

This habit has faded; now it’s nearly gone.  I know she’s not your daughter, and so that’s probably pretty boring, but it’s relevant background so you know why I’m doing a post about, M. Night Shyamalan’s “The Sixth Sense.”

Last night at dinner…

Mia:  I’m good at finishing all my dinner, am I?

Me:  She hardly does that anymore.  I guess we won’t know when it’s the last time until we remember later.  Ramble, ramble, ramble…  

Daisy begins to clear the table…

Me:  I should do a post about “Am I.”

Daisy:  A post about M. Night.  Oh, I like that.  You could talk about “The Sixth Sense,” and how it totally got you.

Me:  I said, “Am I.”  I could do a post about how I’m really gonna miss it once Mia never says it again.

Daisy:  No words.

Me:  What?

Daisy:  It would be cute.  For maybe a sentence.  You should do a post about M. Night.

Upstairs, Writer Dad begins to write a post that is about neither “Am I” or M. Night…

Me:  I hate this post.

Voice inside me:  You should write about M. Night.  You could make it kind of funny if you start the post at dinner and tell the story about how Mia sometimes says, “Am I.”  

Me:  That’s kind of a stretch.

Voice inside me:  Well then hurry up, before you try their patience.

Onward.

It’s hard to believe that M. Night’s, “The Sixth Sense” came out almost ten years ago.  

1999 is my favorite year for movies.  Ever.  I could spend a week writing about the movies that year and I’d only be starting a category.  

Many of my favorite films came out in ’99.  Back then, Daisy and I were heading to the theater at least once a week.  I entered most movies with a bunch of background (anathema to a good time, I’ve since realized), so it was difficult to surprise me.

“The Sixth Sense” came from nowhere, and from no one in particular.

I’d seen the trailer (I used to gobble those like M&M’s), but didn’t think the movie looked particularly special.

Ooh, Bruce Willis is brooding…  BOO!

I was in the theater, opening night, watching a movie that felt a bit like the Twilight Zone, and a little like Hitchcock.  

Lots of red; I like.  Wow, this kid’s super good.  I knew he was going to say, “I see dead people,” and expected to see the fog to waft from his mouth, but the scene still gave me the chills.  

I’m swimming through the third act, which is surprisingly sharp, and the movie starts beating with this quiet, confident pulse.  Then, just before we fade to black, there’s that…

No way, you’ve gotta be kidding me, that didn’t just happen, because I always know the endings of movies and that wasn’t at all what I was expecting, and I think I need to go outside and buy myself another ticket so I can see the movie again, because I always know the endings of movies and that wasn’t at all what I was expecting….

moment.

I feel sorry for anyone who had that movie ruined for them, and bow to those who had it figured out.

I like M. Night.  A lot.  I hope he bounces back.  I’ve rooted for him (I’m the guy who liked the Village), but found myself making excuses for “Lady in Water,” and I’ve heard the “Happening” was a train wreck.

Still, I don’t think the guy’s finished.  I don’t even think he’s come close to his best movie.  

He probably just needs to remember what it was like to be hungry.

What’s your favorite movie of 1999?  

Writer Dad

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I Heart DVD’s

September 4, 2008 By 79 Comments

“Do not discourage your children from hoarding.”

~Samuel Johnson 

Have you ever been driving, fully engaged with your passenger, and you just fly past your exit?

This happened to me yesterday; except I was alone, and I wasn’t driving.

“I Heart Movies,” wasn’t supposed to be about my parents’ wildly disparate styles of parenting.  

It was supposed to be about me, and my horrible hoarding.

Hello, my name is Writer Dad, and it’s been several months since my last DVD purchase.

Yesterday, I waxed fondly of the cinematic library of my childhood.  Our family wasn’t wealthy by any means, but one of our indulgences was undoubtedly movies.  

At first, they were a novelty.  My dad used to pick them up used from the video store next to our flower shop.  As it grew cheaper to buy them new, my mom assumed the role of acquisition.

She treated this task as though a parallel dimension hinged on her diligence.  

We filled one cabinet, then another.  A small stack started on the floor, soon mounting to a teetering tower.

Then it multiplied.

After purchasing “Mr. Destiny” (yes, she was the one), she was forbidden to buy another movie.

But my mom laughed at prohibition, and turned bootlegger.

At first, my father simply sighed and sort of pretended not to notice, but it was difficult to ignore an extra, unopened copy of “Jesus Christ Superstar.”

Arguments fogged the house with language we weren’t allowed to hear from actors.

My dad demanded that my mom stop slipping in a stack of cinema every time she went to Target.

She kept on doing it anyway.  

This was in the mid-life of VHS, about where DVDs are now, and you could practically find a blockbuster sitting at the bottom of your box of Cheerios.  But even ten cents is expensive, if it’s for two spools of magnetic ribbon that are never gonna rotate.  

Her quiet trafficking continued, until crashing into a hilarious/horrifying conclusion one afternoon in the middle of a family move.

My dad discovered a long box, about the size of a hunchback’s coffin, crammed with sealed movies, tucked in tight rows; the entire stash swaddled beneath a pile of shoes.

There was a raging tempest that day.  It may have been added to the bible, I’m not sure, but I will not speak of it here.

NOTE:  At some point, I would like to discuss my mother’s hoarding in far more detail.  It will be funny, and she is shockingly unembarrassed.  However, I am afraid that the subject will eat my blog.

Despite the discord, I loved that library, and when I left, it was something I missed.

Every weekend, as I rented four movies for four days for four dollars and took them back to my apartment, I’d envision hallways of shelves, stocked with decades of cinema, in the palatial estate of my future.

Years passed, I met Daisy, and she surprised me on our second Christmas with a DVD player about a year after they’d hit the shelves.  

I was in love, with both Daisy and the thin black, sexy thing sitting beneath my TV.

So I binged.  

For five straight years.

I won’t bore you with depths of my idiocy, but I may or may not have bought boxes of flix, for a dollar a pop, from a company based in Thailand, called “DVD’s for a Dollar.”

I’m drawn to the idea of a permanent library, even though I can admit the impracticality.  Perhaps it’s the immediate and available choice, or the tangible validation that I’ve seen or read what’s resting on my shelves.  I know part of it was a desire to share adoration with offspring; a feeling born inside me long before I had any.

Fortunately, I grew up.  I had two children, a mortgage, and no excuse not to.  And honestly, Netflix made it easy.

The last three DVD’s I’ve bought, are all Disney, and even they seem fleeting.  In a few years, it’ll all be downloads.  That’s almost like permission to hoard.  What’s the worst that could happen?  I fill up a hard drive and have to get another; how big are they anyway?

About the size of a single VHS cassette.

Writer Dad

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If you liked that, you’ll probably love, “Here’s a Macbook, Go Make Your Million,” or “Just Pay Attention.“

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I Heart Movies

September 3, 2008 By 86 Comments

“Movies can and do have tremendous influence in shaping young lives towards the ideals and objectives of normal adulthood.”

~Walt Disney

 

I love the movies.

Great films are best, but I’ll settle for good.  I’m even willing to watch bad, once… or twice.

My childhood was full of great cinema from a range of sources.  Saturdays were spent at my Grandparent’s, where my sister and I would camp on the carpet in front of an old wooden TV. It was the same size as a 42″ High Def set I would drool over now, except square instead of rectangle, and thick instead of thin.  

And no High Definition, but rather, limbo stick low resolution.  

But it was TV, and I was a kid.

Every weekend, an old film played on channel five.  The same one, four times.  This is where I learned to first tolerate, and then love, black and white.

In between the awesomeness of the Love Boat and the hysterical cool of Fantasy Island, I’d watch something like, “King Kong,” “It’s a Wonderful Life,” or “Some Like it Hot.”

Weekends were made for movies, and a festival started on Saturday, often resumed the next day.  

A family tradition, second only to Sunday breakfast, was a trip to the theater to fill the final afternoon of our weekend.  

The experience ripened alongside our years.  As our literature aged, so did our cinema.

I remember the first R rated movie we saw:

Rain Man.  

I loved it because it told me a story in a way I’d never seen.

At least not on the big screen.

At home, we had a library, stocked with a wealth of R rated features.  These red stamped flix were supposed to be off limits.  Fortunately, my mom and dad were different, each with their own opinion about what best to withhold from a budding mind.

My father believed it important to shield us from coarse language and violence (though this did not slow words that rhyme with truck and sit from frequently fleeing his lips).  

But my mom’s objections could be summed up in a single word.

Nipples.

Not nudity mind you.  Just nipples… and the short and curlies, at least if they sprung from a lady.

The swollen underside of a breast, fine.  The lazy S of a damsel’s backside, sure.  Full frontal nudity from someone with a hairy chest and dangling participles, not a problem.

Nipples?

No way.

Now here’s a test:

At age thirteen, would my mom have preferred her son to see…

A movie where a guy gets a grenade shoved in his mouth, as he’s kicked off a cliff.  He rolls down said cliff, releasing a chain of curse words which link every oath with four letters to the few that involve immediate family.  As he exhales his final syllable, he is blown to a billion bits scattered in the bed of the basin.

OR

Franco Zeffirelli’s, “Romeo and Juliet,” which displays precisely two nipples for exactly two seconds.

High five if you picked the one that might warp me.

Like any kid worth their childhood, my sister and I were able to wade the waters of our parent’s particulars.  

We saw pretty much everything.  

By the time I could drive, I was ready for flix from art house to multiplex, which probably explains my love for Tarantino.  

Who are we but the product of an infinity of finely sliced seconds, where each one matters, at least to some degree. 

What we feed our brain is important. 

Was I feeding mine well?  How do you feed yours?

Writer Dad

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If you liked that post, you’ll love, “A Billion Pixels and None of Them Wasted,” “Batman Left My Wife Lying Crumpled on the Floor,” or “An Old Dream Come True.”

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